Basilisk-born
by Ebenbild
Summary: Fifth year: After the Dementor attack, Harry is not returning to Hogwarts – is he? ! Instead of Harry, a snake moves into the lions' den. People won't know what hit them when Dumbledore's chess pawn Harry is lost in time… Manipulative Dumbledore, 'Slytherin!Harry', Time Travel!
1. Prologue: Death

_**Disclaimer: **__not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little bit…_

_**Information:**__ The story starts at the beginning of fifth year. After that it gets AU, even if I do try to follow the plot for a while. Don't tell me Harry is out of character – I know this myself. This is a Slytherin!Harry story. There is also time-travel involved (Founders and other) as well as manipulative!Dumbledore. I try not to bash him, but it might come of as slight bashing…_

_I'm still not sure what to do about Ron and Hermione._

_**Important:**__ Words written in italics are from Rowling's chapter 'Dudley Demented' in OotP. I needed it to start of the story._

_My mother tongue isn't English, so sorry for my mistakes._

_And now, let's go on with the story…_

_**Beta**__**-**__**ed**____by____**Lyrrl**____and __**Tsukiyomi **__**Cecilia**__. __Thank__you__very__much__!_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Prologue: Death**

sss

He _stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right._

_The cold was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up – he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, starring blankly around, unseeing._

_It was impossible… they couldn't be here… not in Little Whinging… he strained his ears… he would hear them before he saw them…_

Dudley was whining, so he told him to shut up. He had to listen; he had to listen to know…

_There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths._

Again Dudley was whining.

_"Dudley, shut-"_

_WHAM._

Dudley's fist made contact with his head, making him dizzy enough to lose his footing and fall. Pain radiated through his head, his sight swimming.

_"You moron, Dudley!"_ He yelled, while trying to overcome his dizziness. He heard his cousin running – running in the wrong direction. Towards danger, not away from it. He tried to stop him; he yelled as loud as he could to tell him to stop, yelled so he could to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

But he knew, it wasn't enough. They needed help. There was no way to survive without…

His hands were searching in the absolute darkness surrounding him. Hard asphalt made his hands bleed but he had no time, he had no time…

_"Where's - wand- come on- __lumos__!"_

_He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search – and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand – the wand tip had ignited. He snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around._

_His stomach turned over._

_A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came. _

_Stumbling backwards, _he _raised his wand._

_"__Expecto patronum__!"_

_A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his own feet,_ he_ retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic _and pain_ fogging his brain – __concentrate__ –_

_A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled his ears._

Once again, a rush of dizziness threatened to overcome him. His head throbbed with pain and his thoughts seemed unclear and fogged.

"Expecto patronum!"

_His voice sounded dim and distant. Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand – he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't work the spell._

_There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter… he could smell the Dementor's putrid, death-cold breath filling his own lungs, drowning him – __think… something happy…_

_But there was no happiness in him… the Dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat – the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head: "_Bow to death, Harry… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…_"_

His fingers went limp, his grasp loosened – **concentrate** –

But there was nothing, nothing but the darkness, the cold and pain filling his head. His hand was numb and it could have been empty, though it mattered not, the last chance to survive was gone.

**Happy thoughts- happy thoughts - happy…**

His mind went blank. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do anymore. No happiness, nothing but death.

"_Bow to death, Harry_." The voice whispered again and a deep, black, endless hole came down on his mouth.

Weathered skin were placed the eyes should have been. His body bowed to death. His wand escaped his grasp.

Clattering, it hit the ground.

And then there was nothing but the endless darkness of the black hole, the Dementor pressing its non-existent lips to his own …

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

As suddenly as the darkness had come, it had gone. He fell to the earth, unable to do anything but lay there and wait for death to come. His limbs wouldn't move, his head throbbed with overwhelming pain.

His vision went foggy, but he could still see the flaming figure of a phoenix, gliding through the air. Bright like the sun, golden and warm, full of fire, life and happiness. The Dementors cried with pain, as the golden light of the phoenix hit them. The darkness fled where the light had hit. The cold withdrew, leaving his limbs lifeless yet warm. The alleyway was bathed in light, it was so bright it was as if it was imitating the sun. Red flames danced through the air, burning the black cloth of the Dementors, turning the cold to warmth. High-pitched screams escaped the lip-less, endless holes, while claw-like death-hands dispersed into ashes.

It took him a moment to understand; the phoenix was a Patronus.

**Dumbledore?** Hope filled his heart when this word filled his thoughts. **Dumbledore?!**

"Dumb…" he began, but he could not finish his word – **not Dumbledore?**

The bright daylight that came with the phoenix was not the Patronus'. Although, the happiness he felt was that of a Patronus. But was it Dumbledore's?

The answer came a moment later, when a figure emerged from the darkness of the alleyway. Its black cloak billowed in non-existent wind, a cloak made of shadow and fog, black like the endless hole of the Dementor-mouth, shadowy like the grim, coming for prey.

It was nearly seven feet tall and its eyes glowed with death in the darkness, promising a soundless Avada Kedavra, more beautiful than Voldemort would ever be able to produce, promising green lightning to anyone brave enough to cross its path.

**Not Dumbledore.**

**Not safe.**

**Rescue - had to… rescue himself –**

His hands chafed at the rough asphalt, searching for his wand again – **do not give up** –

There was nothing but asphalt, dirt and darkness. His hands began to search faster and faster. His breathing hitched. He could not give up, not now, not after he could finally think clearly again.

And while his hands were searching frantically, his eyes never left the deadly eyes in front of him, daring the figure to stay away, to let him go. But there wasn't a way to escape this born predator…

Pain shot through his head, dizziness filled his mind – **can't give up** –

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The figure drew near. Its hood prevented its features from being seen. Just its deadly eyes gleamed in the light.

It bowed down to him, eyes of death meeting eyes of Avada Kedavra-green.

"_Bow to death, Harry_" The voice was oddly warm, like a summer wind in autumn, tingling through the air like the unearthly voice of a High Elf. "It will be painless. I know, I have been there. Bow to death and move on!"

A gentle hand cupped his head; the other hand moved to draw runes on his forehead and his scar.

"Sleep well, precious child. May you never live again."

And suddenly there was light all around him. His hands, still bleeding, scraped at the asphalt beneath him, lighting up with symbols he had never seen before. His chest ached as it began to glow through his shirt. His eyes hurt as his face started glowing from within, as if from underneath his skin.

And then the Phoenix-Patronus returned. It stopped a few inches from his chest, a thrilling voice singing a song filled with death and resurrection. A phoenix-song.

He tried to move, he tried to flee, but the hands had a tight grip on him and his limbs were limp. Even if he had tried, he could not move a muscle…

Then the fingers on his forehead stopped moving and the hands vanished.

He would have sighed in relief if that hadn't been the moment the Phoenix-Patronus chose to act. Before he could react, the phoenix crossed the last inches to his chest and entered.

Fire.

A burning sensation filled his senses. Where his skin had glowed a moment before it suddenly was literally on fire.

He cried with pain.

His body was turning to ash. He could feel it.

It felt like he was being sucked through the eye of a needle and then he was gone.

He lost consciousness.

xXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxX

_I hope you liked my beginning. _


	2. Chapter 1: Playing Harry

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_**Beta-ed**__ by __**Lyrrl.**__ Thank you very much!_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Playing Harry**

sss

A shadow emerged from the darkness of the alleyway.

"You know, you will have trouble because of his spells," it said. The other one – a man in his early twenties – shrugged.

"I may," He answered. "But even if I do, handling it will be child's play."

"Sa…"

"It's 'Harry' now," The man corrected and snatched the vanished boy's lost glasses from the ground. "You should become accustomed to it."

"We will never speak in public."

"Then do it for me. I will have to learn to answer to that name now."

"You will. But I never understood why you had to vanish the boy in the first place. He is just a mere boy – so why trouble yourself with schemes to finish him off?"

"It had to be like that, Reg. He would not have survived tonight. He was never meant to survive."

"That's what_ you _say. Do you have visions, to know such things?" Now the other raised an eyebrow.

"I don't," 'Harry' answered. "But I learned a long time ago that some things are unchangeable. I tried. I tried to rescue the boy before – I was unable to. I did not even find the place the boy lived at – even when I _knew_ where it was, I could not find it – and I also could not rescue others. Believe me, I tried. How I tried…"

The other one stayed silent after these words. 'Harry' glanced at the place the vanished boy – the former Harry Potter – had been some minutes before.

"I will be Harry now," he finally said. "It was my plan from the start."

"And you really_ can_ do it?" Reg asked. "It won't be easy. You have to behave exactly like the boy… and… well… you are older than him…"

"Well, that's not a problem," the other answered and closed his eyes in concentration. A minute later he was a little more than five years younger and several inches smaller.

"There we go," he said, while picking up the boys wand. Then he glamoured his longer hair and clothes with his own wand and changed the glasses' lenses to window glass.

"Alright," he said and put the glasses on. "How do I look?"

"Like the boy," Reg answered while critically looking the other over. "Are you sure you are able to play 'Harry'?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you just have to lose your accent," Reg concluded. "No-one will believe that you are Harry when you have a foreign accent."

'Harry' sighed.

"I will lose it," he finally answered. "I haven't spoken English in a long time. It will take some time to think in it again…"

"You…" But whatever the other one wanted to say, he was interrupted before even uttering the first word.

"Go! There is someone coming!"

Reg reacted instantly. One moment he was still there, the next a small black cat fled in the dark. The other spun around and pointed Harry's wand toward the face of the newcomer. It was Harry's old babysitter, Mrs. Figg. Hastily, 'Harry' started to stow his wand away.

"_Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to _kill _Mundungus Fletcher!"_

So she was one of them – Dumbledore's men. Reg and he had been lucky that she hadn't seen them together. 'Harry' had never been more thankful for concealing charms. But now he had to play his part…

"_What?" _he asked, trying to sound stunned.

"_He left!" said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons…"_ She rambled on, but 'Harry' tuned her out. Instead he took the time to slip into his Harry-persona. He had to be Harry now. He had to answer to Harry, he had to think about himself as Harry… he had simply to _be _Harry. It would be difficult, but there was no other way…

So he let her ramble, sometimes asking questions Harry would have asked, like: _"This Mundungus has been following me?" _and _"You know Dumbledore?"_

Then he let her go to Dudley and try to lift him up.

_She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged._

"_Get _up, _you useless lump, get _up!"

Dudley either could or would not move, so 'Harry' finally declared that he would and heaved the boy up from the ground. He was heavy, but not as heavy as other things 'Harry' had carried. Of course, he could not let the fact that he was stronger than the real Harry show, so he tried to look as if he was struggling greatly.

"_Hurry up!" said Mrs. Figg hysterically._ And 'Harry' followed her lead, let her peek around corners, aware that somewhere in the dark there was a black cat laughing at him.

"_Keep your wand out!" _

He did as he was told, not caring to share that the Dementors were gone and would not return. Even they were not dumb enough to try a stunt like that again. A Dementor-born like 'Harry' could kill them without trying much – they would not risk angering him.

So he let her drag him along and tried to act like a fifteen year old should, even when Mundungus Fletcher returned and he had the urge to hex the useless scum just to show him what he thought of him.

It wasn't easy. He had to ask Mrs. Figg if she would like to use Hedwig to send a message to Dumbledore and he had to act unoffended when she said "he wouldn't understand" when, in reality, he understood very well. The ministry wanted to disgrace him – they would try to expel him – well, Harry – and they would stoop low enough to use any excuse they got. A Patronus, even if not fully formed, would be enough – not that they knew the Patronus never fully formed with Harry's wand…

Finally they reached the door to number four, Privet Drive. Playing the uninformed boy he wasn't, he asked questions about why he had been followed and shouted after her to wait – because he had still _sooo _many questions about her, her involvement with the magical world and Dumbledore…

To his luck, Mrs. Figg just went on walking and didn't stop.

xXx

He hesitated for a moment, then he readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his way to the house. He finally put his wand away and prepared to meet his aunt. Then he sighed and went in. There was no sense delaying it.

His aunt wasn't happy about what had happened. She fussed over her son, crying "Diddy, Diddy, Diddy!" and 'Harry' let her. He let her, until Dudley suddenly accused him of doing something. Then he knew that this evening would not end quietly.

"_What have you done to my son?" _Uncle Vernon growled.

"_Nothing" said 'Harry', knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him._

"_What did he do to you, Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. "Was it – was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use – his _thing?"

_Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded._

Harry protested. And then the owls came. It started with one, swooping in the kitchen window. While his uncle bellowed and slammed the kitchen window shut, 'Harry' ripped open the envelope to read the message.

xXx

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabitated area and in the presence of a Muggle._

_The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

_As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

_xXx_

He read it, and then he had to read it again. He was sure he misunderstood it, but the context didn't change with a second and third reading. He still read the phrases "_expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"_ and "_calling … shortly to destroy your wand". _They could not, would not…

**Again.**

'Harry' read the letter for his fifth time before finally believing it. They really did. "Expulsion," he thought. "Calling shortly to destroy my wand."

And then he cracked up. He tried to hold it in, tried to not let it be seen by his relatives – but how he wanted! How he wanted!

'Harry' wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh until he cried. The Ministry was eager, so eager, to expel him, to disgrace him. Oh, how eager they were, playing into his hands while trying to destroy him!

A fifteen year old Gryffindor might be unable to think clearly due to fear. But he was no fifteen year old – and he was no Gryffindor. He feared not their coming; he laughed at them, them and their eagerness to punish him for his crimes…

And then he could not stop himself anymore. He chuckled.

"What is it now, boy?" Uncle Vernon sneered.

"They are coming to destroy my wand," he answered, still chuckling.

"And you think that's funny?!" His uncle looked at him as if he had lost his mind – and maybe it really looked like that.

"Yes," he answered, not caring that his accent was back. "I really think that."

"So… destroying your… _thing… _doesn't that mean they threw you out?" Uncle Vernon asked suspiciously.

"Yes! Yes, it does!" 'Harry' tried to calm himself, but he knew it was nearly an impossible task.

"So you think it funny, that they threw you out?"

'Harry' chuckled again at these words.

"You don't understand the magical world, Uncle," he answered. "And it seems you are not the only one. They cannot throw me out – even if they want to."

"So you think yourself above your own kind, too, don't you, boy?" Uncle Vernon concluded and 'Harry' chuckled again.

"I don't," he grinned at his uncle. "But they think themselves above all others. They will pay for this."

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to reply to this, when the next owl collided with the closed kitchen window.

"OWLS!" he yelled instead while Harry opened the window and freed the owl of its burden. It was another letter.

xXx

_Harry – _

_Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOU WAND._

_Arthur Weasley_

_xXx_

Now Harry laughed openly. Dumbledore was going to sort it all out?! Oh, yeah, he would. He would not lose his pawn. Poor Dumbledore, who didn't know that his pawn perished tonight.

Poor, poor Dumbledore…

Now 'Harry' cackled like mad.

Poor, poor old fool Dumbledore…

"What does that one say?" Uncle Vernon bellowed and Harry grinned.

"A reminder to stay here. Almighty Dumbledore is trying to 'sort it all out.'"

"And you are still not worried," Uncle Vernon observed. Harry shrugged and took some deep breaths. His laughing fit succumbed.

"I will never be," he said more calmly than before.

"And why would you not be worried, when they come to destroy your – your _thing. _When they do something like that, you must have done something to receive this kind of treatment!"

"Oh, I did," Harry confessed. "I _did_ do magic."

"_AHA!" roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. "So you admit it! _What did you do to Dudley?"

"_Nothing."_ But it was not good enough. Dudley accused him and his uncle and aunt would believe Dudley over him.

So he let Dudley describe the Dementor attack, staring at his white-faced aunt – until Dudley lacked the words to describe his feelings. Then he supplied:

"_As if you'd never be happy again."_

"_Yes" Dudley whispered, still trembling._

And again they began to accuse him, so he calmly said, _"it wasn't me. It was a couple of Dementors!"_

"_A couple of – what's this codswallop?" _This was Uncle Vernon, so 'Harry' repeated.

"_De – men – tors" said 'Harry' slowly and clearly. "Two of them."_

"_And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?"_

"_They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Aunt Petunia._

_Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her._

Well, that was something that 'Harry' had not expected. His aunt knew of Azkaban?!

"_How d'you know that?" he asked her, astonished._

_Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth._

"_I heard – that awful boy – telling _her _about them – years ago" she said jerkily._

And suddenly he knew from whom she had learned it. Still, he could not resist saying something that he knew as false just to see her reaction…

"_If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?"_

To his disappointment she didn't answer. Instead he had to watch while Uncle Vernon confirmed the Dementor's existence with his wife – _boring._

And then the next owl came. And while Uncle Vernon slammed the window shut again, Harry opened the letter.

xXx

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken._

_Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

_xXx_

This letter nearly started another burst of laughter. So no-one was coming?! He still had to consider himself expelled? The ministry really seemed eager to help him!

And then of course, there was poor almighty Dumbledore, rushing to his rescue…

Well, if 'Harry' was a well-behaved pawn, then he would be absolutely grateful to almighty Dumbledore. But he wasn't, and so he could only try to hold back another laughing fit that seemed to tickle his throat. Yes, almighty Dumbledore had stopped the Aurors from coming and destroy his wand! How lovely of him! How grateful he must be for this unnecessary help!

Of course, he would be a well-behaved little pawn, staying here and waiting for rescue!

Almighty Dumbledore – poor Harry will grovel to your feet, licking your shoes and trying to serve you…

'Harry' cracked up again. Oh how he would love this game! Oh how he would love to grovel and to blow it all up in Dumbledore's face! And then the ministry…

"_Well?" said Uncle Vernon, recalling 'Harry' to his surroundings._

"_I've got to go to a hearing," said Harry._

"_And they'll sentence you there?"_

"_I suppose so."_

"_I won't give up hope, then," said Uncle Vernon nastily._

"_Well, if that's all."_ But of course it wasn't. It took another explanation, another letter from his godfather to simply say to stay home, and a Howler after Uncle Vernon tried to throw him out until it was over.

xXx

And now 'Harry' was lying on his bed, sighing. What an awful day to start being Harry. He suddenly wished he had never vanished the boy – not that that had been an option…

So he was lying on his bed, after he had written letters to Ron, Hermione and Sirius, waiting for Hedwig, and repeating one sentence in his mind. One sentence that was still troubling him. But he needed to believe this sentence – his life might later depend to it. He had to get that right!

And so he lay in the darkness, repeating one sentence over and over again…

"I am Harry James Potter, Son of James and Lily Potter. I am Harry James Potter, Son of James and Lily Potter…" it sounded foreign in his own ears. It simply sounded wrong – and it was wrong. His name wasn't Harry James Potter – it never had been. But for now it had to be. He had vanished the other boy and had decided to take his place – and that included taking the name…

"I am Harry James Potter. I am Harry James Potter." Oh, how he hated that name! Harry was an awful name for a wizard! It definitely wasn't a proper wizarding name. It might be a good mundane name, but as a wizard all that counted was ancestry – and the name "Harry" was too young in the wizarding world to show great ancestry. So there was no way that "Harry" was a proper wizard name…

And Harry's parents had known that – the only one who didn't was Harry himself…

"I am Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. I am Harry James…"

"But I am not!" This time he said it aloud, needed to hear the truth, even if it was just a single time. "I might have to call myself that for the next months, but there is no way I ever will be a foolish Gryffindor like you! I am not Harry James Potter! And I hate being called Harry!" It felt good to rant, even if it did not help him at all. He would have to get used to being called Harry; there was no way to get back the name he had left behind today.

"You have planned this for the last decade," he told himself. "You will not back out now when you have finally nearly reached your goal! Just a little bit longer and you finally have the revenge you longed for the longest time. They will not cross you again. They will not use you again. And it will be a bitter-sweet revenge when their own pawn delivers the final blow!" And because of that he had to endure being Harry for the time being. It was all for the _greater good _after all. He ginned like a lunatic when he told himself this sentence. He would love to throw this sentence back at its owner…

In that moment Hedwig swept in and 'Harry' stopped his rambling.

"Hello, girl," he said instead and waited until Hedwig greeted him like an old friend. "I have some letters for you. Would you please carry them to Ron, Hermione and Sirius?"

She nipped his finger, and took of after he had secured the letters. 'Harry' went to his window, looking out and following her flight until he could not see her anymore. Then his gaze turned to the ground where a black cat was sitting, looking up at him. He winked and then started staring into the night again, waiting for a black cat as it climbed up to him. When it reached the window sill, Harry started to pet it.

The cat let him caress it for a few moments, but then it tried to jump in. 'Harry' stopped it with his hands.

"Don't turn back, Reg," he said. "I'm sure there are guards in the garden. We would not like to be seen."

The cat purred under his fingers.

"Don't worry. They will come and take me away," 'Harry' said while starring to the stars. "They will be here in a few nights. Until then we will have time. And after that, I'm sure they will bring me to Grimauld. You just have to stay hidden until I can let you in."

The cat rubbed its head on his hand.

"I will have to carry you in, because you won't find it alone, but that's alright. I will do it as soon as everyone is asleep on my first night there. The Fidelius might stop you from finding it and me from speaking about it, but you know where it should be and I won't have to speak about it to bring you in. Just be ready. I think you will see me arrive. Wait that night for me."

The cat purred again, then it stood up and left him the same way it had slipped in. 'Harry' grinned. The Ministry would be very sorry when he was finished with them – very, very sorry…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	3. Chapter 2: A Twisted Message

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_**Oliver Twist:**__ Last year I read the book 'Oliver Twist' and I liked the name. I thought the figure of Oliver Twist was fitting for Harry Potter as a pseudonym when I started to think about a Slytherin!Harry story and a different way for him to go against the Ministry – I just had no idea how he would do it. Then I read __**Celestial Requiem**__ by __**Raven Dagonclaw **__and decided to use the Daily Prophet for his protest. I researched the Daily Prophet in the books and found it too bias to even decide to print anything 'Oliver Twist' would print. So I decided that Harry should challenge the Daily Prophet along the Ministry and that he should use the Quibbler to do so. A friend then told me about__** GenkaiFan's Poison Pen**__ and that she/he was doing the same as I had planned. So I read Poison Pen and decided to ask for permission to do the same as it really was quiet similar. I got the permission to use the same idea. I am sorry I forgot to add this when I first posted this part of the story. I decided to update it, to correct the mistake and to bow to GenkaiFan whose story is all I hope mine will be some day._

_**Beta-ed **__by __**Lyrrl. **__Thank you very much!_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**A Twisted Message**

sss

It had been a very quiet morning for Barnabas Cuffe, Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet. Well, that was until Rebecca Amorin, his Security Editor, entered his bureau carrying a piece of parchment in her hands.

"Becky" he said, looking up to greet her with a grin as she frowned. He knew she hated to be called 'Becky' and because of this he could not resist doing exactly that. "What brings you to me today?"

She stared at him for another second, willing him to take back the nickname, then sighed.

"Grizel," she said. Now it was Barnabas who frowned.

"Grizel Hurtz?" he clarified. Grizel Hurtz was one of his advice columnists and also the woman who checked his mail every day. "Did someone try to curse me with a letter?"

"No" Becky shook her head. "But there is a letter addressed solely to you."

"And?"

"It's from one of our readers."

Well, that was a new one. Barnabas raised his eyebrow and held out his hand to take the letter. Becky handed it to him, wringing her hands.

"You have read it," Barnabas said.

"I have," the young woman nodded. "You should also read it, Barnabas."

Barnabas sighted, but did as he was told.

xXx

_Dear Editor,_

_I have been following your newspaper these last months and your articles made me wonder: How come a serious newspaper, like you claim to be, can print such contradicting articles?!_

_There was a time when I thought your newspaper was printing facts, but now I am starting to doubt my beliefs._

_Ever since the first article about Harry Potter and the __Triwizard__Tournament__, I've started to wonder if your paper is more concerned about sales than actual accuracy. The reason is simple: the facts you have been printing do not match my own observations._

_I am a student at Hogwarts and therefore am able to observe Potter more often than the press. And while you have been printing about a little lost boy or a barking mad individual, I have __difficulty__ seeing either in the boy I have seen in the halls of our school._

_So, how serious are these "facts" you have been printing, really? Will you change your opinion again when new information that you can't ignore comes to light?!_

_When the boy starts to be a poster-boy for the __Ministry__, will you then retract the "facts" you have been printing now? Because it seems to me as if your opinion often strangely matches the opinion the Ministry has at that time. _

_Is this the freedom of the press in the wizarding world?_

_Writing the __Ministry__'s preferred __versions__of__ events, using facts to lead your readers to wrong conclusions, using unethical means to get your information?_

_Where is the serious journalism I am looking for?! Even the Muggles are able to print a newspaper without being biased, inaccurate or libelous._

_Why does it seem like the wizarding world is not able to do it?!_

_Is it out of fear? Is it out of ignorance?_

_Or do __witches__ and __wizards__ simply prefer to be blindfolded and led like sheep to the slaughter?_

_I dare you to print this letter. If you don't, I __will__ finally know that your newspaper is nothing more than a simplistic, biased gossip-rag._

_Oliver Twist_

xXx

"By Merlin!" Was the first thing Barnabas uttered after reading the letter.

"I thought the same, Boss," Becky answered, gritting her teeth. "Will we print it?"

When Barnabas looked up at her, he saw that she was just asking out of principle. Both of them knew they would not be able to print the letter – not as long as the Ministry held the majority of their stocks.

"We won't," he answered, sighing.

"So we proclaim ourselves to be a gossip-rag," Becky said with a bitter tone marring her voice.

"No," Barnabas said, still looking at the letter in his hands. "We do not proclaim ourselves anything. We _are _a gossip-rag."

This time a bitter tone had also entered his voice.

"And we will stay one until… I don't know…" he sighed, defeated. "When I entered this newspaper I had great dreams. I dreamed of the serious journalism I knew from my Muggle father who was a journalist himself…"

"Instead you got this," Becky sneered while gesturing arpund the office and the newspaper articles which would land in the rubbish bin just because they did not follow the Ministry guidelines.

"Yes and no," Barnabas answered, now slightly smiling, even if his smile was more a grimace than anything else. "When I entered this newspaper we were printing serious news," he clarified.

"Then why?!"

"The Weasley family was one of the major stock-holders in our newspaper," Barnabas answered sighing. "They had to sell their holdings when they suddenly had money problems. I still don't know how that happened… And after that… well, there is no-one who can hold the Black stocks at the moment – not until Sirius Black gives up his right as the Heir of Black or dies. The Prewitt stocks were sold alongside the Weasley's and the Potter's… well, there was no-one interested in them until now. And even if the boy would be interested, he cannot do anything until he is of age and he has too few stocks to make a difference…"

"So there is no major player except of the Ministry," Becky concluded angrily. "And so they can dictate to us what to do."

"Yes, my dear, I fear you are right," Barnabas answered, sighing.

"How much does the Ministry have?" Becky asked bitter.

"Thirty percent," Barnabas answered. "And the Malfoy family, who aids the Minister, have another five."

"And the rest?" Becky asked and Barnabas could hear her hope. He sighed.

"There is ten percent with the Blacks and five with the Potters" he answered "The Weasleys and the Prewetts each had twenty percent – and were the major players because of that. Now those forty percent belong to… wait a minute…"

Barnabas opened his drawer and took out a thick file, looking through it.

"Ah, there it is," he said. "Weasley now belongs to the French side of the Malfoy family, the Malfoires, the Prewett stocks was divided; ten percent went to the Grim family, five to Evans', and some other minor stockholders like Peverell, Longbottom or Emrys – don't ask me which, they all got shares at nearly the same time. But the fact is, there is no-one there who has more than two or three percent. The only other stock-holder who even has five percent is the Flamel family."

"And so the Ministry can do what they like," Becky concluded.

Barnabas sighed and nodded.

"So there is no way…"

"No…"

Becky took the letter again and stared at it sadly. Barnabas knew she hated the fact that they could do nothing but obey the Ministry. To tell the truth, he agreed with her. Still…

And suddenly he smiled.

"Maybe…" he said and Becky looked up. "Maybe we should lose this letter – how about going to Ottery St. Catchpole to do so?"

Becky looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Then he could almost hear the click as she finally caught what he was talking about.

"Maybe," she answered, smiling. "And maybe I will lose it today at lunch."

"Do so," Barnabas answered. "And now, back to work, my dear. And don't forget, I do not want to see this letter again."

"Yes, Boss" she answered, clutching the letter to her chest while leaving the room. When the door finally closed, Barnabas grinned evilly. He knew he would have problems because of the lost letter, but he would love to deal with them. He finally could best the Ministry – even if it was in a twisted way like this…

"Oliver Twist," he chuckled. "What an interesting choice of a name."

And then he returned to his work as if nothing had happened at all.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	4. Chapter 3: Diagon Alley

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Diagon Alley**

sss

"You know, you should not come here." The voice was just whispering, while the person speaking was bowing down to him to stop being overheard.

"I said they will come in a few days – and don't worry, the Dursley's won't miss me. They have after all forbidden me to leave my room."

"And still you are wandering out in the street – out in broad daylight!"

"Stop worrying, Reg. You're here with me – so what could happen?"

"S… Harry! There is no 'what could'! You are a wanted person…"

"You let it sound as if I was a criminal, Reg."

"You know what I mean! You are famous! What will you do when they find out that…"

"When you would stop to scream – then maybe they never will find out" Harry answered, rolling his eyes. "I am wearing a glamour, Reg and I am also wearing my normal clothes – there is no way they would connect _me _with Harry Potter."

"Could you not just have changed back to normal and come here like that?" Reg asked, still uncomfortable, while looking at the wizards and witches walking on the street around them.

"Nope, sorry" Harry answered, popping the p.

"You sound like a fifteen year old teenager" Reg said irritated.

"I _am _a fifteen year old teenager" Harry corrected grinning.

"No, you might be looking like one, but I am sure as hell that you aren't one." Reg answered still looking like wanting to be elsewhere.

"Oh, shut up, Reg, and have a little bit fun!" Harry answered while nearly dancing down Diagon Alley to Gringotts.

They entered together. Harry's glamour fell.

And suddenly Harry's childish behavior was gone, as if it never had existed in the first place.

He walked to one of the tellers and said.

"May you join the warriors today, clan-brother!" his voice suddenly sounded rougher, changing with the language. The Gobbledygook that left his mouth was fluent but accentuated with a more ancient accent.

The teller looked up, stunned to be greeted in his own tongue.

"And may your business go well" he finally answered Harry, intrigued what the wizard-boy in front of him wanted.

"I would like to meet Nardog" Harry said. "My name is Potter."

The goblin blinked again, then his gaze flickered to Harry's scar. Harry sighted, but said nothing.

"Very well Mr. Potter." The goblin finally answered. "I will bring you to him immediately."

And with that he closed his post and brought them through the hall and into the depth of Gringotts Bank.

Harry was not afraid. He knew most of the wizards were either uncomfortable or afraid to enter more than the lobby and their Vaults in Gringotts, intimidated by the golden walls, the figurines out of marble, gold or silver and the floor-high paintings of the goblin wars.

No, Harry wasn't afraid.

He even once stopped and looked at one of the paintings while walking through the holy halls of Gringotts. The goblin also stopped when noticing Harry did not follow anymore.

"Ah… yes… the battle of the great North Fields" he said proudly. "One of the greatest victories in our history – and thanks to the healers the one with the least deaths."

"And a very bloody one" Harry said, still staring. "It might have been a huge success, but the causality rate was intimidating. It took three days and a lot of Stasis Charms to prevent the most of them from dying."

The goblin stared at Harry, this time angry looking.

"Whatever your history books say, whatever you heard, _wizard_" he said coolly. "It is wrong. The goblin are a proud and strong race! They were fighting and winning – not lying on the ground dying at the end of the day."

"Winning and dying do not exclude each other" Harry answered but went on. The goblin huffed and followed.

"Wizards" he snorted. "Always want to be stronger then everyone."

"They may want to" Harry answered despite the distance between them which would normally prevent to understand the whispered comment of the goblin. "But my comment was not about power. It was about causalities."

The goblin looked surprised at that.

"Don't you think, talking about goblins dying in masses while fighting against your kind and putting our race down, isn't quite the same?" He asked.

Harry shrugged.

"My kind never fought against goblins – so maybe it might be the same."

The goblin opened his mouth to tell Harry, that they had fought against wizards before – the painting was clearly showing it – but Harry did not let himself be interrupted.

"But it is not, when talking about the war against the wizards." He continued. "Having lethal wounds and surviving it – that's not about weakness, that's about strength."

The goblin shut his mouth, then he finally uttered.

"You have a strange way of thinking, Mr. Potter."

"Normally the people around me get eventually used to it" Harry answered casually. "Maybe it's because I am an _Olde _one – maybe they all think differently then the rest. That even _would _explain some of Oncle Nick's behavior, I think…"

The goblin stared at him, but before he could utter another sentences, he was interrupted by Reg.

"Or maybe it is just you" Reg answered Harry. "Being a child all over again could have done something to your brain, after all."

"It could" Harry answered grinning while following the goblin through a door. "But then I would have gone crazy way before now."

"Maybe you have."

Before Harry could answer, a second goblin entered.

"Mr. Potter I presume" the goblin said, inclining his head.

"Nardog!" Harry answered, bowing. "Have you fought today, my friend?"

The answer was a grin.

"I had a blessing challenge" he answered the question. It was a traditional goblin-greeting, normally only used in formal occasions. The wizard in front of him instead used it since they had met for the first time.

"I normally would give you my dagger to answer" the boy said grinning. "But today I am not equipped with it, so an invitation to train with me will have to do."

At that, Nardog raised an eyebrow.

"No dagger today?" He asked, grinning slightly. "You are lacking, Mr Potter."

"Oh – I do have daggers with me" the boy answered shrugging, "but I laced them yesterday with my venom. I do not recommend using them in a traditional greeting at the moment."

Nardog shuddered.

"I am in complete agreement, my friend" he answered, still shivering at the thought of Basilisk-venom laced daggers in a traditional greeting where the blade was handled with bare hands. "I think I will accept your verbal invitation today."

The boy grinned.

"I thought as much" he answered. Nardog nodded and then waved at the goblin to send him away. Reg looked a moment at Harry, then he, too, left. He had to do some own business at the bank. As soon as the door was closed and the privacy-spells were in place, Nardog returned to their business.

"So, what can I do for you today, Morganaadth?"

The boy's demeanour changed again. His eyes getting cold and calculating.

"How far are you with my plans?" he asked.

"Quite far" Nardog answered while searching for his documents. "I have bought you shares of several companies in the wizarding and Muggle world."

"Mundane" the boy said.

"I beg your pardon?" Nardog asked.

"It's 'mundane world', not 'Muggle world'" Harry answered.

"Mundane world" Nardog corrected, not sure why it was important.

The boy nodded.

"The share is on different names?" He asked.

"Yes, Morganaadth" the goblin answered. "I used every name I could use."

The boy nodded again.

"The other things I asked you to do?"

The goblin handed him a large folder.

"It's everything in there since the death of the last Lord." He said. "I sorted it by person – not that there is so much to sort."

"Thank you. That will do nicely" Harry answered while shrinking the folder with a wave of his hand before putting it away.

"Is there anything else, Morganaadth?" Nardog asked.

Harry looked at him, inclining his head.

"There might" he said casually.

"I will need a barrister soon. Do you know someone I can trust with this" he pointed at the pocket he had stowed away the folder. "And all the other stuff?"

"I will look into it and send you my answer." Nardog said. "You can read Gobbledegook?"

"I think I should manage" Harry replied. "My knowledge is not up-to-date anymore but it sure will do for this."

"Then I will use it to ensure privacy."

Harry inclined his head again.

"It will do for now" he said. "I will tell you as soon as I have installed something saver."

"Something saver?"

"Just one thing I have in my mind" Harry answered.

"So, this would be all for today?" The goblin asked.

Harry pondered, then he nodded.

"I will have to look over the facts you gave me, before doing something further," he said. "Is there something else you want to share?"

The goblin showed his teeth – the gesture a goblin made instead of shaking their head the negative.

"Then the only thing I need today is to make a withdrawal" Harry finally said. "My vault, not Harry's Trust Vault."

xXx

Ten minutes later Harry left Gringotts.

Reg still wasn't there so Harry guest that the business of the other wizard was taking longer than planned.

Well, Harry had still some things to do in Diagon Alley.

So Harry left the stairs leading into the bank and went to Ollivander.

The room he entered hadn't changed at all since the last time he had been there – the time he had been eleven and started Hogwarts. It was still packed with wands, old, dusty and lit in dim light.

But there also was a difference to the last time.

Last time the old Ollivander had been able to surprise him, this time his senses already told him, where the old man had hid himself.

And when the man emerged he looked straight in the other ones pale, wide, moon-like eyes.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter" Ollivander said, tilting his head and studying him intensely.

"I was not aware, that you are again in need of my arts."

"I am not" Harry answered. "I still_ do_ have my wand."

"Then how come I find you here in my shop?" Ollivander asked, now even more intrigued by the young wizard in front of him. Normally there were just a few occasions a wizard would find his way to Ollivander's shop – and usually he heard about a broken wand before the owner would stand in his door.

"You are not here to buy a second one, are you, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"What would you say, if I'd answer 'yes'?" The boy asked interested.

"Then I would tell you, that carrying more than one wand was forbidden in 1955 for everyone who was born after the law or who did not have at that time a second one already." Ollivander answered.

"It was?" The boy looked at him surprised. "This is something I must have missed…"

"Then you were here for a second wand?" Ollivander inquired interested.

"I wasn't" the boy answered. "I do have enough wands. I do not need another."

This answer startled the wand-maker.

"You have _enough_ wands? Beg to tell how many do you have in you possession to say such a thing?"

The boy shrugged and waved his hand dismissively.

"That does not concern you, Mr. Ollivander" he said simply. "And it is better when I stay silent about that when possessing them might be a crime."

Ollivander stared at the boy, but he had to give it to him: It really was better to stay silent about something like that.

"So what _can_ I do for you, Mr. Potter?" he finally asked.

"I need a wrist-holster" The boy answered while revealing an old and worn wrist-holster on his right hand. He loosened it and put it on Ollivander's counter.

"I need something like that" he said, "and it needs to be high quality."

Ollivander blinked and studied the leather of the wrist-holster and the wand-shafts he could see looking out of it.

"May I?" he asked gesturing at the wands.

The boy shrugged.

"You may" he said casually, as if he had no problem with a wizard touching his wands. Every other wizard definitely would have denied Ollivander the request or at least would have been wary.

Ollivander first withdraw one of the wands.

It was the one the lad had bought here when he was eleven. This time it was in a good condition – different then the last time Ollivander had seen the boy's wand at the Tri-Wizard-Tournament in Hogwarts. It was neatly clean and polished.

Ollivander put it down on his desk and withdrew the other one.

The only thing he could do was gasp when he held it in his hands – and suddenly he knew why the lad had not been worried about Ollivander having his wands.

While the other wand had felt alright in Ollivander's hands, this definitely didn't.

It had power – Ollivander could feel it radiating off from it – but it also wasn't willing to bow to any master except for its own.

"Where did you get it from?" Ollivander asked, his eyes following the midget carvings of the wand. Runes? "It surly is powerful."

And old, so very old…

Ollivander could not even detect who had crafted it but he could feel the masters present all over it, nearly embodied in the wand itself. Whoever had used this wand, he had used it for a very, very long time. And not only that…

"Does it matter where I got it from?" The boy asked. "I can use it, that's enough."

"You mustn't use it!"

When he nearly screamed that, the boy looked at him surprised.

"And pray tell why not?" he finally asked.

"This one was used for dark magic" Ollivander said. "It is not a good idea to use something like that. Using an object like that will harm you eventually, Mr. Potter."

"It won't harm me" the boy answered. "And it wasn't used for the Evil Arts."

Ollivander sighted at that.

"I do know my métier, Mr. Potter" he told the boy. "And I can tell that this wand was used for rituals. Let me tell you, Mr. Potter, I do not know any ritual that is used for good."

The boy chuckled.

"Do not worry about that, Mr. Ollivander" He said, "There is always something in the world you do not know. But I guarantee you, this wand was never used for evil. It might have killed, it might have healed – but it never was touched with the essence of true evil."

Ollivander wanted to protest, but was cut off by the lad.

"The wand-holster I need, please." He said. "Because even if I know that the other one never was used for evil I do not like the thought of it resting with my other wand in the same holster. Their magic works too differently that it would do both of them any good when it stayed like this for too long."

That Ollivander could not deny, but one moment he still hesitated. Then he sighted and took out his wand-holsters.

"What kind of holster do you like?" He asked. "There are some with some practical spells on it…"

"I want a plain one" The lad answered and Ollivander raised an eyebrow.

"This wand-holster also isn't plain" he finally said, gesturing to the holster on his counter.

"It isn't" the boy answered. "But I can do these runes by myself. I just don't have the time to craft the holster also."

Ollivander stared at the lad, surprise in his eyes.

"Runes like that aren't easy. To be able to do them you must have not less than NEWT-level Ancient Runes. I don't think you're old enough…"

"Don't worry. I am able to." The boy said and to Ollivander's surprise he suddenly could not even doubt the boy. Whatever had happened in the last five years – the young boy in front of him had definitely aged beyond his years.

"So you just need one holster or will you replace that one?" He pointed at the worn holster on his counter.

"Just one" the boy answered. "I don't want to replace the other one just yet. It belonged to someone dear to me – I will use it as long as I can."

Ollivander guessed that the holster was one of the boy's parents' ones. He could not blame the boy for wanting to keep it.

The boy paid, put the old wand-holster with the old wand in it back on and then the other one right beside the old one with his own wand in it, then he walked out.

Ollivander's gaze followed the boy out in the sunshine. For one moment Ollivander thought that he saw a dead man waiting for the boy.

"Do you have it?" the boy asked the dead.

"I do" the other answered. "It took some time, but I got it."

"Stow it away until later." The boy commanded. "Best would be near you-know-where."

Then Harry Potter and his companion vanished, apparating away – even if the boy should still not be able to.

Ollivander blinked again. And then it dawned to him, that he just had witnessed something from greater importance he had ever seen, a secret buried deeper than all other secrets he had ever come across…

"Maybe today is the day I should actually forget something" Ollivander reasoned. "I think I don't want to be in young Mr. Potter's way if he decides to act by himself."

And acting he would. Ollivander could not see the future – but this was written clear as day on the month that would follow…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	5. Chapter 4: Turning Dobby

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Turning Dobby**

sss

Harry and Reg instead returned to Surrey, to a playground not far from Harry's home. There Harry looked around, but the day was a rainy one and so no-one was on the streets.

"Well, that should do" he said, pulling out a third wand and erecting spell-walls to prevent from noticing and listening.

"What are you planning now, S… Harry?" Reg asked, looking interested at the building magic.

"Those are awesome! Some of them even _I _don't know – and I am hiding for fifteen years now!" he commented, looking at the wards, Harry was setting.

"I may teach you sometime" Harry answered distractedly. "But now I have to do something else. I need someone I can trust to help me with my task."

"Hey! I am helping you – do you want to say you can't trust me?!" Reg said hurt.

"I know I can trust you" Harry answered, shaking his head. "You have been helping me ever since I rescued you – so why shouldn't I trust you? No. I need someone who can enter everywhere and is no-where found. I need a perfect spy and a loyal friend. As helpful as you are – even you have trouble to enter somewhere unnoticed."

"Well, yes…" Reg said. "But your description – how about Kreature? He is the old house-elf of my mother."

"And he is bound to your brother" Harry answered. "No good."

"Uh… yeah… but…"

"Don't worry. I know whom I want" Harry said and then called "_Dobby_!"

The next moment there was a crack and the crazy little house-elf appeared.

"Harry Potter sir is calling?" He said, looking up at Harry.

"Uh… yes, Dobby" Harry answered, suddenly not all too sure what to say. "Uh… are you still a free elf, Dobby?" he finally asked.

"Of course, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby answered. "Dobby likes being a free elf over being Master Malfoy's elf, yes Dobby does."

"So there is no way that you will return in the service of a magical being to replenish your magic?" Harry asked curiously. "Do you want to die?"

Dobby blinked.

"Harry Potter sir knows how house-elf-magic is working?" he asked astonished.

"Uh… yes I do."

"So Harry Potter sir called to bond?" Dobby clarified with a nearly mad gleam in his eyes.

"Uh… yes" Harry answered. "And I wanted to ask you to also ask Winky if she would like to join. I need some loyal house-elves to help with my quest."

"Harry Potter sir has need for Dobby and Winky?" Dobby asked again, then he suddenly grinned. "I's be right back. I's be fetching Winky."

And with that and a loud pop he popped away again.

"So that's your master-scheme" Reg said grinning. "Mad house-elves."

"I need someone who can contact me everywhere and without being noticed. Of course I had to ask house-elves. And about the 'mad' thing – you need to be at least a little mad to follow my scheme, don't you agree, Reg?" Harry answered while an evil grin flickered over his face.

"Hey!" the other one exclaimed, but Harry just continued to speak.

"I might have been able to work alone until now – but now I am returning to Hogwarts and the hot phase of my plan is starting. I need someone who can get my correspondence to me or bring me somewhere I am unable to go by myself."

"So you are hiring two house-elves." Reg stated. "Why two?"

"Because they are free" Harry answered shrugging. "And I might need them both."

"I know you better than that, Harry" Reg said. "So – why two?"

"To spy on my favorite target, of course" Harry answered. "And all the others involved with him. Maybe we will find some other allies on the way."

Reg sighted while shaking his head.

"Don't you know enough already?"

"It's better to be prepared" Harry answered. "I might know thousands of things about my enemies – but it's really better to still spy on them. They might change their way without you knowing when you don't."

"What are you, Harry?! A super-spy?!"

Harry grinned.

"Nothing like that" he answered. "But I have fought enough in my life to know that you need as much information as you can get – and sometimes such information will provide you even more then knowledge. There might even be some allies you can find while spying on your enemies."

"You are mad, Harry, definitely absolutely mad." Reg commended, shaking his head.

"Why, thank you" Harry answered but was unable to say anything more because at that moment there was a loud crack and the elves returned.

"I's been cleaning, Dobby!" Winky cried, trying to free her arm from the other elf. "Why's you bringing me away?!"

Harry looked at the female elf. She looked dreadful. She was wearing a dirty, yellow dress and had big bangs under her blood-shot eyes. In her hand was a dirty rag – what she had maybe used for cleaning just a second before.

"I's been cleaning! I's been cleaning!" she cried, sounding desperate and angry.

"And I'm sure you have done well" Harry answered to her desperate cries. Winky stop abruptly with repeating her phrase and looked at him.

"No" she told him, big tears quelling out of her eyes. " Winky's a bad elf. Not cleaning good enough."

"Good enough for me" Harry answered, extending his hand to her. "I want you in my family."

Winky stared at his hand, then at him, unable to understand at first. Then comprehension filled her eyes and they went huge.

"You's cannot want me, kind sir" she told him. "I's been a bad elf."

"I don't believe that" Harry answered, still holding out his hand to her "and I still want you."

Again Winky stared at his hand and then at his face. And suddenly her own face lit up, the despair vanishing.

"You's want Winky, kind sir?" she asked. "You's want Winky as your house-elf?!"

"I do" Harry answered, still extending his hand. And finally, with a face as bright as the sun she took his hand.

"_Be part of my family, be part of my home. Service for magic, loyalty for loyalty, friendship for friendship, advice for life. So mot it be." _Harry hissed softly.

Winky's eyes went huge.

Harry knew she had not understood his words – they were Parseltongue after all – but she knew exactly what he wanted from her.

And then she smiled.

"So be it" she answered and a golden mist came from her body and entered Harry's. The next moment, she glowed in the death-green light that were his eye color, then the light vanished and a very happy and healthy elf stood there instead of the desperate being before.

"Now I!" Dobby said grinning madly. Harry let go of beaming Winky's hand and extended it to Dobby. He repeated his sentence and after Dobby had agreed he also glowed in a green light before standing there like before, grinning madly.

"What's master like us to wear?" Winky asked him, still beaming.

"I don't care" Harry answered. "But I don't like rags or towels. And to tell the truth, it would be best if you would continue to wear what you are wearing."

Winky blinked at that and Harry could see that she was unsure what to think about that.

"I will need you as spies and correspondence in Hogwarts without the Headmaster or any other knowing about it" he explained. "When the need to hide will end, we will choose what you will wear for the rest of the service-time."

"Master Harry not likes Dumbly-dory to know we's being his house-elves?" Winky asked.

"Yes" Harry answered. "Because I need you at Hogwarts – and in Hogwarts there are just two kinds of elves: free ones and these who bonded to Hogwarts."

Now Winky grinned.

"And we!" she said. "I's will do what master says. What shall Winky do for you?"

"One of you will bring my correspondence to Gringotts or an owl-post-office and back from there. This one also has to do all the tasks I also may need, like shopping or delivering something. The other one I need as a spy. I need to know all about the Headmaster and his findings and planning. I will give this one a recorder to install in meetings. This one also will have to get the information about when and where the meeting is held and so on… It would be best if you would change positions in an unpredictable pattern, so that the Headmaster doesn't find out. When you don't have to do anything, return to Hogwarts and go on as if nothing happened."

Dobby and Winky looked at each other, then nodded severely.

"Yes, Master Harry" they chorused.

"Dobby will begin in this instant" Dobby declared, then he popped away.

"Winky will wait until I's needed" Winky said and then declared steadily. "I's will return cleaning!" And with that she also popped away.

"Super!" Reg declared as soon as the elves had vanished. "Now you don't have one insane house-elf, instead you have two! How, by Merlin, where you able to find the only two insane house-elves in the whole British wizarding world?!"

"I have been looking long and hart" Harry answered smugly. "If you would have looked, you would have found them also."

Reg shuddered.

"Luckily I haven't" he said, while following Harry, who was returning to Privet Drive. "Luckily I haven't…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Later that evening, Harry desided to look through the file he had gotten in Gringotts. The file were informations about the accounts of one 'Harry Potter' – a boy, who did not exist anymore.

Nevertheless the file was important.

Harry opened it and sorted through it. He raised an eyebrow at some things he found in there. The last time he had gotten a statement about the Trust Vault the original Harry had used, had been in 1981 after the death of Lily and James Potter.

Now the Trust looked a lot different. It seemed as if someone had thought about using some things in there for their own benefit. There was still enough gold left for Harry to be able to go to school but the gold that had been in there in case Harry was placed with someone else to raise had vanished. Of course it should have vanished as it had been in there for childcare.

The problem was, that the Dursleys had gotten just enough to pay for the original Harry's school supplies. The rest of the money had been used for the aftermath of the war.

"As if Lily and James had not done enough" Harry murmured while having dark thoughts. "No wonder the Dursleys do not like me or 'Harry'." The original Harry had been straining their money since he arrived.

Of course, Vernon had gotten a better job some years later and they had started to over-do it with Dudley but Harry also remembered a time when Dudley and the original Harry had been brought to Mrs. Figg so that Petunia could go to work for some hours. It had been Vernon's promotion when the original Harry had turned four that finally had started the life the Dursleys were living now. And it had been little Harry who had brought the trouble in their house…

"No wonder they resented everything magical after that even more" Harry thought. "That there was not enough left of 'my' parents' inheritance to even feat 'me' would support their beliefs that 'my' parents were jobless thugs."

Harry was relieved that Dumbledore had not known that the Potter family had more money then what was left in the Trust Vault. When the original Harry had been declared Dumbledore's ward the Potter Vaults had long been out of his reach. Harry was sure that Dumbledore would have used even more money for the aftermath of the war if he had had access to the Potter Vault.

"Well, I knew long before that Dumbledore was not to be trusted" Harry thought and turned to the rest of the folder.

In there was also a copy of the will of Lily and James Potter – and it clearly stated who should take little Harry in if they died. Of course, Sirius as Harry's godfather had the first place, but the rest had not even been considered by Dumbledore.

"Alice and Frank Longbottom" Harry read. He knew that they had gone insane some month later – but until then they would have been suitable guardians for little Harry. And after that he still would have been in the care of Augusta Longbottom – Neville's grandmother.

"Amelia Bones", Harry read next. "Well, she still is. There was nothing to stop Harry from being raised there." The last name on the list made Harry snort.

"Alastor Moody – that would have been a life" Harry was sure that Moody would have trained the original Harry to be an Auror as soon as he would have been able to walk steadily. "Well, everything would have been better then the Dursleys…"

But Dumbledore had not considered the wishes of Lily and James Potter. He had needed Harry where Harry had been raised – far away from everything magical.

"Well – it's time to lay out the facts" Harry murmured. Then he tucked out another parchment and wrote down a short sentence.

"_My dear old friend,_

_The thief from three years ago has also stolen what you have lost fourteen years ago._

_Your old friend_

_Me."_

He smiled and sealed the letter. Then he calmly called for Winky and she took the letter away. Harry instead returned to his reading. He still had some things to do until he finally could leave Privet Drive for good…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	6. Chapter 5: ca 650 BC Awakening

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 700 and 600 BC**

**Awakening**

sss

It had been a normal day today. Maybe Myrddin was a little bit tired, maybe he had wandered a little too far. But all in all it had been a normal day for a young man in his early thirties. He had had his breakfast and now had stopped for lunch in the middle of a forest.

He had just finished eating and packing away the rest of his food, when destiny decided that his life was not exciting enough.

The first thing, Myrddin saw, was a flash of bright light. Then a body appeared, plastered on the earth of the forest. Myrddin starred at his unexpected guest. The foreigner was a boy. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.

He had short, oddly cut raven hair. The clothes he was wearing were also odd. Myrddin had never seen anything like that. The tunic was too short, the pants… well… odd. The material was foreign and they seemed to hold up without a girdle.

They seemed to be cut for an entirely different person, because they were hanging on the boy. The tunic had a bright coloring, Myrddin had never seen before. They were no hide or fur, like Myrddin knew clothes to be.

Myrddin would have thought that they were high ranking clothes, would they just have fit the boy and would they have had fewer holes. Like they were now, they seemed more rags than clothes. And rags for a boy like that…

"A young druid" Myrddin had figured "not old enough to have fully matured magic. So most likely accidental magic brought him here."

So the clothes the lad was wearing simply weren't appropriate for his assumed rank.

Myrddin hesitated for another moment or such, but than he took his staff and went to the unconsciousness boy. He sat down beside him and slowly reached out to him. The lad had blood in his face but the cut at his eyebrow was easily mended and his slight concussion was nothing Myrddin couldn't tread as well.

And then the lad groaned and sat up. Light green eyes fixed on Myrddin. The lad blinked, surprise in his eyes.

"A burst of accidental magic and suddenly he is somewhere he has never been before" Myrddin thought while meeting the starring eyes of the lad. "He seems not old enough to be without a parent. His magic is simply not mature enough to be fully controlled by himself."

Myrddin knew the times when magic matured. The first time was when the child was ten or eleven, the next when it was seventeen or eighteen and the last one with twenty two or twenty three. The lad in front of him seemed too young to have experienced more than the first time, so he had to have still more often bouts of accidental magic.

And one of these bouts seemed to have brought him to Myrddin. Myrddin wondered why the magic of the boy had brought him here. Normally accidental magic tried to help the druid – but how could bringing him here help the lad?

"Where do you come from, lad?" Myrddin asked. The lad starred at him as if he was a foreign creature. Did he not speak Cymráeg?

"Where do you come from, lad?" Myrddin asked again, this time in Brezhoneg. Again no reaction. So Myrddin tried the next language: Kernewek, then Gaelg, Gaelige and Gàighlig. Nothing. Another try with Latin, Norse, Greek and Egyptian. Still nothing – and there was no other language Myrddin could think of.

The lad had not shown interest in any of the languages. So were did he come from, that he didn't know any of these languages?

Then the lad opened his mouth and babbled something. The language he used had a slightly familiar sound, a little like Norse, but as much as Myrddin tried, something prevented him from actually understanding the lad.

A Norse dialect?

"Say it again" he said in Norse but of course, the boy didn't do like he was asked. He had not understood. Myrddin sighted.

No dialect? Another country with a language in little relation with Norse? A country behind the final boundary of the Norse lands? How far away would that be?

"He must be from the other side of the world" he mused. "Powerful accidental magic indeed. His parents must be proud of him…" Of course they just could be proud of the lad when Myrddin would find some way to send him back to them. When he did not, they would be nothing but worried.

But first he had to find a way to communicate. He starred at the boy, pondering. Finally he found a way to start the understanding between them.

"Myrddin" Myrddin finally said, pointing at his chest. "Myrddin Emrys."

The lad starred, his face showed his bewilderment. Then his eyes cleared and he seemed to understand Myrddin's actions.

"Harry" He said. "Harry Potter."

Myrddin wrinkled his nose in dislike. Harry. A name that sounded like something a baby would be cooing. Something a parent might give a child to show they cherished it – but nothing a lad like the boy in front of him should use as a name.

Maybe it was a normal first name in the home country of the lad – but here he was in Britannia and here the name didn't fit for a young boy like him.

It was nothing Myrddin would like to be seen calling the lad in public. He would be looked at funny when he would coo at a lad of maybe fifteen.

Myrddin sighted. "_I will have to search for another name to call the lad_", he murmured under his breath, using his mother tongue.

"_Why? What's wrong with my name_?"

Myrddin's head snapped up when the lad answered to his murmurs. One moment Myrddin was absolutely speechless, then he suddenly understood, why the lad this time had answered.

"_A Parselan_", Myrddin shook his head, "_I never had the idea to try Parseltongue_."

"_Parselan_?" The lad asked "_what's a Parselan?"_

"_It's a person who can speak to snakes."_ Myrddin answered the question. It was odd to speak to another person in the language of the snakes, but it seemed as if Parseltongue was the only language they had in common.

"_A Parselan is a parselmouth_?" The lad confirmed.

"_Parselmouth_?" this was a word Myrddin never had heard before. It seemed that Parseltongue also had some different words – like a different dialect. But it was better than not understanding. "When_ a Parselmouth is someone who speaks to snakes, then it seems to be the same_." Myrddin finally answered. The boy starred at him, than he nodded.

"_Well, yes, then I'm a… Parselan."_ He finally said, then he stopped and starred again at Myrddin. "_Are we talking in Parseltongue?"_

"_You can't tell?"_ The lad shook his head. "_I never could. It all sounds like English for me."_

"_English? Is that the language you are normally speaking?"_

The lad – Harry – nodded.

"_What's the name of the land you are from, lad?"_

"_Britain."_ The boy answered and Myrddin crooked an eyebrow. That word sounded somehow familiar. Britain… Britain… Britannia…!

"_Britain – you are talking about Britannia?"_

"_Britannia?"_ The lad stopped and seemed to think about that. _"Well… yes… but I have never heard someone calling Britain Britannia before…"_

"_You are not speaking one of the languages of Britannia",_ Myrddin clarified.

The lad blinked at that. "_But I am!"_ He insisted. _"I am speaking English – like everyone in Britain!"_

"_Lad… there is Cymr__áeg, Kernewek, Gaelg, Gaelige, Brezhoneg and Gàighlig__ – there is no 'English' to speak."_

"_C…Cymáeg?!"_ The lad starred unbelieving at Myrddin. _"Gaelige?! What are these bloody languages! I have never heard about them!"_

"_But when you are from Britannia, you must have heard at least one of them!"_

"_No! Never!"_

This answer was something to ponder about. Was Britain not Britannia? Had Myrddin been wrong? Or did he miss something?

Maybe the boy knew something else about his country – something Myrddin could use to identify the country the lad was from. He himself had been travelling the last fifteen years throughout the Roman Empire, Greece, Egypt and the Norse lands, where the Germanic tribes lived. He should be wise enough to find out where the boy was from.

"_Tell me: Have you ever heard about the Roman Empire?" _he finally asked. The Empire was well known, so he might be able to identify if the lad was at least somewhere near the Roman Empire.

"_Yes" _the lad answered bewildered.

"_That's good" _Myrddin sighted. "_So tell me: where is the Roman Empire from your home? Is it in the West? The Nord? The South? The East?"_

Now the lad looked as if he was utterly confused.

"_It is nowhere from my home." _He finally answered. "_The Romans do not exist anymore."_

"_They do not?" _Now Myrddin was addled. Had they left the home country of the lad… or was it something different?

The boy nodded.

"_Their Empire is gone since… I don't know… a few hundred years?"_

That did not sound as if the Romans had left. It sounded more like…

"_How many winters from here are you from?!" _Myrddin asked stunned, while in the same moment, the lad cried.

"_When by Merlin am I?!"_

So Myrddin had been correct. The lad was _not _from the same time. "Travelled in time…" Myrddin thought. "Travelled in time." It sounded unbelievable. He could not believe it.

"_What do you mean with _'when_ are you'?" _he asked, hoping that he was wrong and the lad had meant something different – not that there was a different meaning to that question…

"_I…_" Harry stopped and bit his lips. "_I seem to have traveled in time."_ He finally said. _"There is nothing that would make sense without a time-travel. I mean: Your clothes are funny, you are speaking a language I don't recognize but you insist that I am still home… so I have to have traveled in time…"_

This time Myrddin could not deny it. The lad had found the same explanation like Myrddin, so Myrddin _could_ not be wrong…

"_Traveled in time…"_ Now Myrddin was really impressed. He knew that there was some really strong accidental magic but he never had heard of something like that.

But the same time Myrddin understood the problems that came with this travel. The boy had no-one. No parents, no relatives, absolutely no-one…

But the lad was not mature enough to be on his own…

"_How far back in time you think you are?" _He finally asked. The question was important. When he was just a few years in the past, the boy would be able to somehow go home, when it was more… Myrddin would have to think about that…

"_I… I don't know" _Harry answered. _"But it has to be some time. A few hundred years at least."_

"_A few hundred years."_ Well, that would explain the foreign and strange clothes the boy was wearing as well as the language he was speaking.

"_So English is the language of another conqueror of Britannia?"_ He asked to clarify the language problem. He knew, the boy would likely not know, but it couldn't hear a second theory.

"_Er…" _the boy seemed to be a little bit unsure at that. _"I think 'English' is… well will be the name of one of your languages… or something like that… I don't know. But even if it is one of your languages…it… well… the words will a little bit… change over time… I think…"_

"_Oh"_ somehow that seemed to make some sense to Myrddin. He knew that dialects changed the language slightly so time would also do that...

"_Well, your theory is as good as mine." _He finally said. "_And even if it is the language of a conqueror or something similar, it would not change the language problem you have, while you are here."_

Then he stopped again, pondering.

When the lad was not from this time, then there was no-one to send him back to. Of course, Myrddin maybe would be able to find family or someone to take the boy in, but…

"_So you are from a few hundred years in the future_?" Myrddin asked again, to clarify the theory. When it were just a few hundred years maybe the lad would see his family again – even if he would be old at that time. The boy hesitated.

"_Maybe"_ He finally said. "_I think so…"_

Of course, the lad wouldn't be sure. Young ones were not interested in stars and cards. Maybe the lad knew about the stars, maybe he had learned his sky cards and simply didn't know how to read them. Maybe the lad didn't know, that reading the sky could tell him the years…

"_Well, we will find out."_ Myrddin promised, while he started to plan the things the lad needed to learn, while he was here. Myrddin would die first, before he would let the lad stop learning his magic. An untrained druid was nothing the world needed – especially an untrained very powerful druid like the boy in front of him.

"_Do you have a staff, lad?" _Myrddin finally asked. He had not seen it, but maybe the lad had shrunk it or lay on it.

"_A staff?"_ the lad asked.

"_The thing you use to help you manipulate your magic" _Myrddin explained. Did they have no staffs in the future?!

The lad blinked in surprise, but then he searched his clothes and the floor around him.

"_Where is my wand? Do… do you have it?!" _He finally asked, still searching.

Now it was Myrddins turn to be confused. "_Your wand? What is a wand? Something like a staff?"_

The lad looked at the staff Myrddin was carrying, hesitated and then nodded.

"_Something like that" _he answered. _"But a wand is smaller. We don't have this long… staffs… anymore…"_

Well, that made sense. Myrddin himself was shrinking his staff often. When they had found a way in the future to have it constantly short while still being able to contain all the ingredients then it was not surprising that they had smaller staffs.

"_Maybe you have lost it before coming here" _Myrddin mused. The lad fixed his glance at something just he could see, while he was thinking back.

"_Maybe" _he finally said. _"I… was in trouble, back home. There were Dementors… I… I could not focus and the Dementor started to suck out my soul… I… I might have let it go…"_

Myrddin knew nothing about a Dementor. He had heard about the creatures, knew that they were one of the Firbolg – the immortal magical creatures – but he had never met them. They lived in countries far behind Egypt. Had they come here to Britain in the future?

"You can't change it anyway, so stop pondering" Myrddin reprimanded himself, aloud he said.

"_Well, so you need a staff and a new master to teach you until you find a way back to where you come from. I am willing to be your knew master and help you to look for a way to return hom_e_, but first I will take you to Loandom to get you a staff. You need a staff to learn to focus your magic… how many winters have you seen, lad?"_

"_Er… fifteen since a few days"_

So Myrddin had been right with his judging. The lad had just matured one time in his life. So now he had just to find out how much the lad knew about using his magic. So the first important question was…

"_Did your parents teach you to control your magic?"_ Myrddin knew that this was the most important question. He of course needed to know where to start to teach the lad, but to have focus on his magic was what the lad needed the most. Without focus the lad would have a hard time to learn. And learn he must. While the lad was with him, Myrddin had to train him. It would really do no good, when the lad did not train his magic – accidental magic like what brought the lad was nothing they needed.

"_Er… no."_ This was an answer Myrddin had not expected.

"_No? Your parents didn't teach you?!"_

"_I… my parents are dead, sir."_

"_But your relatives trained you, didn't they?"_ Myrddin asked. It was the duty of the elders to train the young ones…

"_Er… my aunt doesn't have any magic."_ The boy answered. _"But I went to Hogwarts."_

"_Hogwarts?"_ Myrddin asked. "_Is that your master?"_

As soon as he asked the question he knew he had asked the wrong thing because suddenly the boy's face fell and pure horror crossed his features.

"_Lad? Are you alright?"_ Myrddin asked worried.

"_I… no! No! No! No! NO!"_ The lad suddenly cried. "_Please… please tell me you know Hogwarts!"_

Myrddin didn't know why the lad would be so anxious because Myrddin didn't know this 'Hogwarts' but he understood that suddenly the world the lad had pieced himself together had broken apart again.

Was Hogwarts a very old man? Had the lad thought that Hogwarts was old enough to still exist so far in the past?

"_I'm sorry, lad. I don't know someone called Hogwarts…"_ He finally said. The answer were tears, thousands of tears.

"_Shhh"_ Myrddin hesitated a moment. Normally you would not touch a foreign child. Just relatives were allowed to touch children but then he crossed the space between himself and the lad and hugged the boy. The boy needed someone and there was no relative to sooth him. Fingers dug into his tunic, and the lad clung to Myrddin as if his life depended on it.

Myrddin didn't know how long it finally took him to calm down the lad, but finally the fingers let him go again and he stopped hugging and soothing the lad.

"_You're alright again, lad?"_ He asked.

"_Y… yes. Sorry."_ The boy replied while letting him go.

"_So… care to explain what shook you so much?"_

"_I… well… Hogwarts is a… a place to learn"_ The boy finally replied. _"In my time it is a place to learn since a thousand years. When… when you don't know it…"_

And suddenly Myrddin understood. A place to learn, founded a thousand years in the past – and Myrddin did not know of it…

"_Then you are much farer in the past then you thought."_ Myrddin concluded and sighted. The lad had no way to return home in the moment and now he also would be unable to live long enough to see his friends and family again. Even if the lad was one of the few druids who lived more than a few hundred years – the oldest living one had still died with nearly seven hundred – not long enough for the boy to return home. "Even if his blood would be pure enough to let him live that long" Myrddin thought.

Not that he believed it. There were few today who had pure enough blood to live that long – in the future, there would be less…

"_Yes…"_ The boy replied in that moment while trying to stop his still flowing tears. _"And when I don't find a way back, I will never see my friends again – and they will never know what happened to me either."_

Myrddin understood the lad. The young boy in front of him had been ripped out of his time and out of his known place – and now heard that there was a possibility that he would never return home… Nothing Myrddin wished for anyone…

"_Lad"_ The boy met his eyes. It was the first time that Myrddin saw the color of the boy's eyes. He stopped midsentence. Green. The eyes of the boy were in a green Myrddin knew of. It was the eye color of a single family. Should he… no… Myrddin stopped his thoughts before he even had stared to think about them. The family was old and powerful but the current family members were non Myrddin would give a young lad to.

But still… Maybe the lad would live longer than he thought… The family was strong and pure – but they weren't from Britannia. Myrddin had been their guest in Persia, where they currently lived. But originally they were Egyptian or something like that. Old blood, that Myrddin knew, pure blood – still, after hundreds of generations…

So maybe there was a chance for the boy to live longer then the average druid. Not long enough, but maybe long enough to find a way home…

But that would be something for the future. Now, the boy needed a master – or a family to teach him. And as long as the current family members of his family were like they are, Myrddin would never give the boy back to them. Of course he would teach the boy their way – the boy needed to know it – but he would not bring the boy to Persia to meet them.

"_Lad"_ He started again, shaking his head to clear it from his thoughts. _"I will bring you to Loandom. There, you will get a staff. While we will travel there, I will teach you magic and languages you might need. I will be your master until you find a way home or until you are twenty-three and of age. Is that acceptable?"_

The boy hesitated and then nodded. Of course, he did not know that Myrddin knew his family – maybe the lad even did not now of his family himself. When his parents weren't there to teach any magic, they must have died, while the boy was a mere wee babe and so maybe family history and magic had been lost to him. Well, Myrddin would teach him what he knew – there was just one important question left…

"_So… then there is just one question left. Is your name really Harry?"_

The boy nodded. "Yes. _Harry."_ He said. "_Harry James Potter."_

Potter? Myrddin let this part of the name go. He knew there was no way that the boy's magical name was "Potter", but he would not tell now. There were more important things to know first. And one of the more important things was the true name of the boy… so he said:

"_Well, that sounds a little bit better. No son of mine would have the name Harryjames as first name – but you are no son of mine so Harryjames will do."_ Myrddin felt relieved that 'Harry' was just a shortened form of the lad's name. He could not see himself call a baby's name to a nearly grown up boy.

One moment the boy seemed to think about protesting, but then he just closed his mouth again.

"_So… let's pack and start our journey, Harryjames."_ Myrddin finally said and stood up. The boy followed his lead, helped him to pack his stuff together and was beside him when Myrddin started walking.

"_Have you eaten something this morning?"_ Myrddin asked while he searched his way through the forest.

"_No, sir"_ Harryjames replied.

Myrddin sighted when he heard the lads answer but searched his bundle for some dried fruits.

"_That's all I have now. Tonight there will be a little bit dried meat and maybe some mushrooms or roots when I find some. Do you know how to search for food?"_

"_No, sir. I… I was never…"_

"_Never away from your school or your aunt?"_

"_Er… yes…"_

"_Well, I will show you. I will teach you all you need to know…"_ And he would have his hands full with that…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	7. Chapter 6: ca 650 BC Training

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 700 and 600 BC**

**Training**

sss

The next weeks were horrible for Harry.

Myrddin was a hard teacher. He did not like to repeat things. He was determined to teach Harry Cymráeg as thoroughly as possible before they reached Loandom. So he told Harry the words for everything he could think of. After the first week telling Harry words he started to solely speak in Cymráeg.

It was hard. The week that followed Harry nearly understood nothing of the things Myrddin also was teaching him. Mostly it was herbology and potion-theory. But Harry had to learn and soon he was able to understand Myrddin even he still struggled with answering in Cymráeg. It was his need of the language, Myrddin's dislike to repeat himself and the lack of a notebook that animated Harry to remember words and stuff soon just after hearing them one time.

When they finally reached Loandom Harry had a good enough grasp of Cymráeg to understand the most things Myrddin said and his potion and herbology knowledge had improved. He also had learned to hunt, to cook with an open fire and some other stuff needed in the wild.

"Today we will meet an old friend of mine" Myrddin said in Cymráeg. "He is a staff-maker. He will make you a new staff. This should take a few days. After that I will start to teach you fully. Until your staff is ready, I will start you on writing."

"Writing?" Harry carefully formulated. "Why do you… need me to… start… up writing?"

"On writing" Myrddin corrected absently.

"On writing" Harry repeated.

"So you do know how to write?" Myrddin finally asked.

"Yes… my… writing" Harry wasn't sure how to tell Myrddin that maybe their writing types were different, but Myrddin understood.

"I will teach you to write runes." He said. First Harry didn't understand, but when Myrddin repeated the sentence in Parseltongue he finally did.

"Runes" he repeated the word Myrddin had used, filling it in his vocabulary while thinking that he now would have to learn what he had chosen not to in third year. And there was no Hermione to help him with that. He sighted.

Well, there was nothing he could do to change that. He would have to learn what Myrddin wanted him to learn until he and Myrddin had found a way to bring him back to the future.

At least his feet weren't sore anymore and he had gotten used to walking all day.

"Here we are" Harry stopped when he heard Myrddin's voice.

"_Don't forget, lad: don't tell anyone that you are from the future. We will tell them you are from a different country, nothing more – do you understand?"_ this time Myrddin spoke Parsel tongue to make sure that no-one would understand his words.

"_Yes_" Harry answered in the same language. That was also something that he had gotten used to. He could chose now to speak Parsel tongue freely without trying to imagine a snake first.

"_Good" _Myrddin said and then he knocked on the door frame. The door of the small cottage itself was just closed with a simple fur. The village they were in was small – Harry roughly estimated twenty to thirty small, wooden cottages. Myrddin had called the village one of the bigger ones in Britain. Harry did not want to think how big a small one was.

"Come in" a voice said, also in Cymráeg.

"You seem to know who is standing in front of your door, my friend" Myrddin said and entered, holding the fur open for Harry.

"Of course I do. I heard news of your return here and so I was pretty sure to see you in the next weeks. You never fail to knock on my door frame." The wizard who answered was an old looking man with white, bushy hair and eyes so bright that they seemed to have no iris at all.

"Ollivanneder" Myrddin greeted smiling. "Let me introduce my apprentice Harryjames. Harryjames, this is Ollivanneder. He is the best staff-maker in Britannia and my friend."

"I greet you, elder" Harry answered. It was difficult to learn all the different greetings Myrddin told him, but when he glanced at Myrddin he saw him nodding. He seemed to have chosen the right one.

"I greet you also, young one" Ollivanneder answered. "You seem not to be from here."

"I am not" Harry answered. "But my master is teaching me Cymráeg so that I will be able to communicate."

"And he does it well" Ollivanneder said smiling and then turned back to Myrddin. "I understand you need a staff for the lad?"

"I do" Myrddin answered. "I have my suspicions of his ancestry but I am not sure so you will have to test him."

"The lad is a Firbolg-born, isn't he?" Ollivanneder asked and Harry opened his mouth to ask what a Firbolg-born was just to snap it shut the next moment. This was a talk between elders – a child was not allowed to butt in. Myrddin had taught him that and Harry dared not to break this rule. The world he was in was foreign to him so it was best to behave like a child should do here.

Ollivanneder instead seemed to have seen the question in Harry's eyes because he laughed at him. "A Firbolg-born is a person born from parents who were both magical creatures like dragons and unicorns." He explained.

Harry blinked, but dared not to say that he definitely wasn't a Firbolg-born.

"He might be" Myrddin answered. "But I suspect him to be an _Olde _one." And with a glance at Harry he said. "That is someone whose family is descended from a Firbolg-born and whose blood is still as pure as the blood of the Firbolg-born him- or herself."

"There are just a few _Olde _families in the world" Ollivanneder said.

"I know."

"So you have a reason to believe something like that."

"Yes, a good one" Myrddin answered but didn't elaborate. Ollivanneder seemed content with that so Harry had to conceal his curiosity.

"So… a staff for the lad." Ollivanneder said instead and looked Harry over. "Well, then come with me, young one. Let's see what we are dealing with."

And with that he left his cottage. Harry looked hesitating at Myrddin but when Myrddin nodded, he followed the other wizard. He felt relieved when Myrddin followed him.

They left the village and entered the forest. There they walked until they reached a hill. On top of the hill was standing a stone-circle with a stone-bed in the middle.

"This is a ritual-circle" Myrddin explained to him. "It is used for healing and other things to do with the human body. You will have to lay down on the stone-bed. Ollivanneder will do the rest."

"Don't fear, my boy" Ollivanneder butted in. "this is a simple ritual. I will need a drop of your blood and a strand of your hair. That is all. The only thing that could feel a little bit odd is when I touch your mind with mine. Don't use Occlumency, just let me do it. I will not read your thoughts."

Harry wanted to ask what Occlumency was but he just nodded and laid on the stone-bed. It felt odd to lie there and to wait that something would happen. When Ollivanneder peaked his finger with a dagger – a ritual dagger – and drew a drop blood, Harry felt nothing. Ollivanneder let the drop blood fall on the ground and suddenly the earth lit up and the stone-circle looked as if it was lit with a hundreds of lamps or with the sun itself. Then Ollivanneder cut a strand of Harry's hair and let it also fall to the ground. Again the stone-circle lit. This time it was too bright to see anything except of white. Then the light dimmed.

"Well, that was powerful" Harry heard Ollivanneder murmur. "You are definitely an _Olde _one – and a powerful, too."

Harry looked at Ollivanneder baffled. But before he could commend on the older wizards words, sparkling white runes appeared in the sky above him.

Ollivanneder gasped.

Silence, while new runes appeared, this time they were muddy brown. Ollivanneder gasped again.

"Well, that changes everything." He said and suddenly he sounded old and very serious. "That foul thing will have to leave first…"

"Foul thing?" Harry was not sure he heard right and this time he could not stop himself from speaking.

"Yes, foul thing" Ollivanneder said. And erased with a wish of his hand the writing in the air. "Come on, lad – we will have to talk to your master."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Ollivanneder left the stone-circle, Harry followed him confused.

Ollivanneder's face was grave.

Myrddin who had been waiting right outside the stone-circle raised an eyebrow when he saw them return.

"What happened?" He asked.

"You were right" Ollivanneder said. "The boy is an _Olde _one. And I mean a really _Olde _one. He is the heir to an _Olde _family and a really ancient _Olde _family."

"So his parents were both…?"

"Yes." Ollivanneder answered. "But that's not all."

"What else?"

"Someone seemed to have used the boy in forbidden rituals – and I mean ritual_s_" Ollivanneder said. "The first one hefted a foul thing on the boys soul, keeping if from fully forming and the second on was a tried line-theft. Whoever did that has to die, Myrddin. A creature like that has no right to live! Line-theft by a normal wizard is grave – by an _Olde _one it is beyond… beyond…"

"I understand, my friend" Myrddin interrupted. "Just tell me how to remedy it, and I will."

"The line-theft can just cured with killing this foul creature" Ollivanneder said. "But it has no effect on the lads magic itself. It is just something that should be atoned for."

"It will." Myrddin answered. "I will teach him so that he can judge the thief."

Ollivanneder nodded.

"I thought as much" he said. "The foul thing that it hefted at his soul will have to be removed. It seems like another soul – or a part of a soul. But it is twisted and evil. The problem is the hole it will leave behind. The boys soul must have lived nearly his whole life with this foul thing attached to it – just rescued by a tiny bit of powerful, ancient magic, which stands like a shield between this foul soul-part and the boys own soul. But still, the boy's soul could not build itself fully because of this foul thing."

Myrddin stayed silence, thinking. Harry looked at Myrddin, then at Ollivanneder and then back to Myrddin. He could not understand how no-one in the future had found out about the soul-piece that was attached to his soul.

Why hadn't Dumbledore found it? Or Madam Pomfrey? Or someone else? Had never someone thought about looking him over after the night his parents died – because Harry was sure it was that time Voldemort – of course it must have been Voldemort – had left some part of his soul in Harry.

"Harryjames?" Harry looked up when Myrddin addressed him. "Do you have an idea how and when this soul-piece could have entered you?"

"They tell me…" Harry started.

"Told me" Myrddin corrected.

"Yes, they told me, when I… when I toddler… my parents… die… to… rescue me." Harry finally settled for, this time Myrddin said nothing. "there was a… evil druid… my mother stopped him from… from…" Harry made a helpless gesture, as if someone was stabbing him. He dared not to use Parsel tongue in front of Ollivanneder.

"To kill you" Myrddin said calmly. "She used her own death to protect you. Your father most likely did the same. So the dark druid was unable to kill you in the end and the only thing he could do was to infect you with his soul – which was also mostly prevented from your parents' protection. I am impressed. Your parents must have been some powerful druids to stop him like that."

"So it is because of my parents… I am not… infec… infec…"

"Infected" Myrddin said and nodded. "It was very impressive magic. You should honour them for doing that for you. They must have loved you more than anything in the world."

A single tear escaped Harry's eyes when he heard that. He had often wondered about his parents. Hearing that the magic they used to protect him was powerful enough to stop Voldemort even now was… indescribable.

"I… no one ever tell… told me much… about them" Harry said. "No one I ask know … how… they die."

Myrddin didn't answer but a gentle hand found its way on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it.

"Be proud of them, Harryjames." He said. "we will fulfil their work and rescue you from this foul thing in you."

"What are you planning, Myrddin?" Ollivanneder asked.

Myrddin smiled.

"The boy has the soul of a toddler, when we erase the foul thing in him – why not doing what everyone does when wanting a child?"

Harry blinked confused at these words, but Ollivanneder also started to smile.

"As a Firbolg-born yourself you can do it" Ollivanneder said. "I would be unable, but a Firbolg-born has to give up a part of his soul to have a child. So you are willing to be his father in all – blood and soul?"

"My father?!" Harry asked surprised, forgetting that it was a talk between elders again. But Myrddin did not reprimand him, instead he ruffled his hair.

"A Firbolg-born is the son of two magical creatures who themselves have hard souls." He explained.

"Hard souls?"

"Every magical creature has a hard soul. The longer they live, the harder is their soul. A human has a soft soul. Because of that they are dying easily and don't live long. A druid is a cross between a Firbolg and a human. They have a hard part – which the Firbolg has to give willingly to even have a child – and a soft part, which is inherited by the human without his knowledge.

"Firbolg – especially the immortal ones – can change once in their life-time in a human-like creature and have a child with a human or another human-like creature. Normally they have children with a human – these are called druids – but sometimes, and this is very unlikely but has happened, they meet another human-like creature and have a child with said creature – these are called Firbolg-born.

"The Firbolg-born have one part of the hard soul of one parent and another part of the hard soul of the other parent. So they also have a hard soul and live even longer then normal druids. And then there are the _Olde _ones. These are the descendents of the Firbolg-born who still have a fully hard soul. These families are also nearly non-existent. I myself do know of two. One is here in Britain and one in Persia. Each family has a physical or a psychical characteristic. I am pretty sure yours are your eyes."

"My eyes?" Harry interrupted. "But… my mother… her eyes." He stuttered.

"I thought as much when Ollivanneder called her family an ancient _Olde _one." Myrddin answered.

Harry blinked. He knew his mother was Muggle-born so how…?

"My mother's parents… no magic" he finally said to clarify his point. "Parents' parents no magic… parents' parents' parents no magic…"

"Well, that would not surprise me" Myrddin said. "The magic of your mother's family is coupled with the green eyes – when there were no green eyes, there is no magic. I don't think even your mother's family knows why it is coupled with the eye-colour."

"Oh" Harry said while thinking of his aunt's and cousin's blue eyes. When his mother had been the only one with green eyes but the magic in her family was coupled with it… no wonder there weren't more magical family members – and no wonder Harry had inherited her eye-colour…

"So… I am _Olde _one?" he said.

"Yes." Myrddin answered.

"When children… I give up… soul-part."

"Yes" Myrddin answered. "Like I do. I am the son of a basilisk and a phoenix."

Now Harry stared openly at him, absolutely flabbergasted.

"It is truly like that" Myrddin chuckled. "That's why I am called a Firbolg-born. And that's why I can help you."

"How?" Harry asked while his thoughts returned to the soul-piece stuck in his head.

"We will destroy the foul soul-piece" Myrddin answered. "But we need something to replace it. So I will give you a part of my soul and my blood. Like that your soul is whole and healthy and well – I will have a son."

"But… then your soul… not whole."

Myrddin chuckled again when he heard Harry's words.

"No, that's fine" he answered. "It is different from your missing part. I will still have a whole soul. Maybe I should better call it a copying of my soul. I copy it and give it to you. It weakens me for a few months but after that I am fine – and I still have a whole soul. It's just that normally people call it 'giving' not 'copying'. Don't worry about me."

"What about… my parents?" Harry asked, fearing he would lose them when he accepted.

"They will still be your parents" Myrddin answered... "You will just have two birth-fathers instead of one, because this ritual will not count as adopting, it will count as a second birth with me as your father."

"Oh…" Harry said. "So then I… call you father?"

"You may." Myrddin answered shrugging. "I would like to be called 'father' by my son, but I won't force you."

Harry stared at the man in front of him and suddenly a single thought shot through his mind. "You could have what you always wanted. You could have a family…"

"But… when I go… away" Harry said aloud.

"It will not change anything. I will not hold you back when you find a way home" Myrddin answered. "But even if you return home – you will always be my son."

Harry smiled at hearing that. Better having a family for just a short time than never having one.

"I do it." He said. "How doing?"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Soon Harry realised this ritual was much more complicated then the last one. They returned to Ollivanneder's cottage and the next three weeks they used to prepare for the ritual. Harry was taught how to prepare it and also how to write and read runes. His Cymráeg also improved and Ollivanneder started him on Brezhoneg. Harry hated it. Now he had to change languages when he was talking to either Myrddin or Ollivanneder. But he could see that there was a difference in his ability to remember things. This time he seemed to grasp the new language faster than the last time.

And then the big day arrived, and they returned to the stone-circle in the forest. While Harry helped Myrddin drawing runes and circles in the earth, Ollivanneder soaked the stones and the stone-bed with different potions.

"So… Now I just need to know a few last things" Myrddin said. "I know you don't know your full name so we will have to do it without."

"I know my name!" Harry returned staring at Myrddin.

"Yes, the name you are called, but normally every parent and godfather does choose a name." Myrddin returned. "So Harryjames is likely just the name you mother has chosen."

"Why my mother?"

"Because she has birthed you. It is her right to chose how you are called" Myrddin answered and Harry gave up. He did not know how to tell his soon-to-be father that giving a name in his time was different then here.

"So, what do you also need to know?"

"The names of your parents and your godfather." Myrddin answered. "It is enough, when you know their first and last name. You don't have to tell me their second and third name."

Harry stared at Myrddin. He wasn't sure why Myrddin needed the names because Myrddin had kept quiet about that part of the ritual.

"My mother's name was Lily. Lily Potter, born Evans" he finally answered. "My father's James, James Potter. My godfather's name is Sirius Black."

Myrddin nodded and returned to his work without saying anything else. Harry finally did the same.

Finally they were ready.

Harry undressed himself and then laid down on the stone-bed while Myrddin cut his wrists. Taking the blood of his wrists Myrddin started writing runes on Harry's body – some on Harry's forehead, some on his chest, some on his arms and some on his feet. Then Myrddin healed his cuts and also carved some runes on his own forehead, wrists and ankles. Blood oozed from these wounds but Myrddin ignored it.

He then changed to another dagger and started to carve the runes he had written in his own blood on Harry's body in Harry's flesh. Finally he took some of the blood oozing from Harry's wounds and rewrote the runes on his own forehead.

Ollivanneder activated the circle. White light filled the hill.

And then both, he and Myrddin began to chant while Ollivanneder lit one potion soaked stone after the other with fire. The final one he lit was the stone-bed Harry was lying on.

Harry had thought that it would hurt, but when the flames reached him, they caressed him – and then them and all the other flames suddenly where sucked in him, while the chanting of Myrddin and Ollivanneder started to get louder and persistent.

And suddenly there was pain, unbelievable pain, starting from his scar and spreading through his whole body. Harry would have liked to scream or to curl himself into a small ball but he couldn't. The runes on his body and the circle-runes prevented both.

So he lay there, screaming silently with pain while he heard the chanting of Myrddin and Ollivanneder. And then, suddenly the pain from his body drew back to his scar – and a black mist oozed out of it, screaming with a high-pitched voice. It vanished as soon as the light of the stone-circle hit it.

And suddenly Harry felt empty. Empty and somehow… not fully there. Then he felt Myrddin's hands holding his head. Myrddin bowed down to his knees, invisible to Harry's vision. But Harry could feel Myrddin's lips, slightly kissing his forehead. And then he heard Myrddin speaking.

"You are my son."

The stone-circle lit this time in a blue light, blue flames dancing in the night sky.

"You are my flesh."

The runes Myrddin had written with his own blood on Harry and after that carved them in Harry's flesh started to burn. Blue fire lit them and spread beneath Harry's skin.

"You are my son."

The fire reached Harry's eyes and suddenly he couldn't see anything anymore. His eyes burned and hurt while the rest of his body also started to hurt.

"You are my soul."

Suddenly the empty feeling in Harry vanished and warmth spread through his entire body, succumbed his pain.

Myrddin swayed for a moment before he continued.

"You are my son." He said, his grip tightening.

"I give birth to you today."

The blue flames burned Harry's skin with cold fire. His eyes, teeth and ears began to hurt even more. Than his chest joint them, followed by the veins when Harry's blood decided to burn with blue fire. Finally his skin started to hurt again and his fingertips prickled.

"I name you today. You are my son, your name is Salvazsahar."

This time Ollivanneder joint in. One of his hands got hold of Harry's shoulder.

"I name you my godson. Your name is Serendu." He said.

"I name you your mother Lily's son" Myrddin said. "Your name is Harryjames."

"I name you your father James' and godfather Sirius' son" Ollivannder joint in. "May your name be what they decided for you."

"So be Emrys" Myrddin finished. "Because I named you my son. Be Potter, because your father James named you his son, be Evans because your mother Lily named you her son. Be Ollivanneder, because Ollivanneder named you his godson. Be Black, because your godfather Sirius named you his godson."

A dazzling bright light erupted form Harry's body – and then the pain stopped. His vision returned and he suddenly could see better then ever.

Myrddin let go of him and sighed. Ollivanneder also let go of his shoulder.

"You alright, Salvazsahar?" he asked Harry.

Harry sat up. The inscription on him was gone, his wounds healed and he felt better then ever, as if something in his chest finally had settled.

"Yes, I am" he answered. "I feel great."

Before he could utter another sentence he felt two arms enveloping him. "Thanks to whoever let you live through this!" He heard Myrddin's voice while he was pressed to a warm chest. "I nearly panicked when this thing oozed out of you! I feared I would lose my son before gaining him."

Harry blinked while letting Myrddin – his father – petting him.

"I… I'm fine, atr" Harry finally chocked out, still half buried in his father's tunic. "I am really fine." It felt strange to call Myrddin _atr_ – father – but the same time it felt right.

"So… can you explain why I suddenly have a different name?" he finally asked, looking from his father to his godfather.

"You have been born again" Myrddin answered. "While you still have your old heritage, you are also my son now. As your father and the only parent alive I have the right to choose your given name – and I told you I won't have a son called Harryjames. But I also did not want to change your name so Ollivanneder and I decided to include your old name in the ritual – to be sure it would stay – and just add our chosen names in front of your old one."

"Oh…" Harry hesitated. "So… I am Salvazsahar Serendu Harryjames what ever now?"

"Yes."

"You know, you will have to show me how to write it" Harry said.

His father grinned.

"I will" he said, still petting Harry's hair. "I will, my handsome son."

Harry blinked, then his eyes suddenly.

"Do I look different?" He asked, suddenly worried.

"Not much" his father answered. "Your hair and eye colour are still the same, but now you have more locks then untameable hair. And maybe your face is a little sharper then before. It is nothing anyone would notice."

"Except of my name-change." Harry said. "People are bound to notice something like that."

"Well – you will have to live with it. I did not like the name Harryjames."

"Believe me, I noticed, atr" Harry answered dryly but also smiling. He could not even be angry with his father. A name was nothing his heart clung to.

"Well, then I am Salvazsahar now – Salvazsahar Emrys."

It sounded good to say the name, knowing there was a man who had the same last name, a man who had chosen his given name – a man who was his father.

"So, and now we return to the originally purpose for the first ritual" Ollivanneder said and took out a staff.

"I took the measurements I had from you and your father and build this. It should be perfect for you."

Harry stared at the staff. It was slender, carved with runes and symbols, lines and circles and it was bigger than himself – but it was perfect. He reached out and took it.

In that moment his hands touched the staff, a shower of sparks erupted from its carvings, bathing Harry and his father in red, green, blue and white.

The warmth Harry could feel from it was even greater then the warmth he had felt from his wand.

Harry's eyes lit with green fire.

"It is perfect" He said, still staring at the staff in his hands. "Absolutely perfect."

"It is oak with dragon-blood, elfin-hair, unicorn-blood, Dementor-blood, Grim-hair, Phoenix-tears, Thunderbird-feather and Basilisk-venom."

Harry blinked.

"Why so much?" He asked astonished.

"To tune it exactly for you" Ollivanneder answered. "These are your most important ancestors."

"Are they?"

"Yes. Your mothers had two equally important lines in her blood – two ancient _Olde _ones. One of the lines had as ancestors a Dementor- Unicorn couple, the other one a High Elven- Elder Dragon one. Your father James was a descendant of a Grim- Thunderbird couple and well, you know that Myrddin is the son of a Basilisk- Phoenix couple. Having the same magic as your ancestors had in your staff eases its use."

"Oh…"

"And the more of your important ancestors you add, the better is your connection to your staff."

"I understand" Harry answered, still looking at his new staff.

"You can shrink it, you know" Ollivanneder said smiling. "To transport it easier. I have a wrist-holster for your shrunken staff with me."

Harry blinked.

"Can I also use it, when it is shrunken?" He asked.

"Of course" Ollivanneder laughed. "But I would not recommend it for rituals. When your staff is shrunken, its connection with you will be less efficient. It will do no good in complicated rituals."

Harry nodded.

"How do I shrink it?"

"Just want it. Sal" his father answered chuckling. "Just want it."

Harry starred at the staff. Then he willed it to shrink – and it did.

"Wow!" he breathed and his father and godfather chuckled again. "So… now we can finally really start with teaching." His father commented, and Harry groaned. He would have to remember more stuff without being able to write it down!

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	8. Chapter 7: ca 650 BC Starting to live

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Important:**__ I will start to differentiate between the original Harry and the present Harry in name because I would confuse myself if I would not start that now. As of now past/original Harry will be called 'Sal' or 'Salvazsahar' while present Harry still is 'Harry'._

_**For Interest:**__ Salvazsahar is pronounced something akin to 'Sal' like in Sally, 'va' like in Valerie, 'sa' like in son and 'har' like in Harry – just don't forget the 'h' or it really nearly sounds like the infamous fourth Founder xD_

_I developed the name from salvaz – salvator- saviour and sahar- awakening, Serendu, Harry's new middle name is welsh (bastard-welsh?) and comes from seren-star and du-black_

_Well, that's it. I just added it because a friend asked me to do it. So, on with the story…_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 700 and 600 BC**

**Starting To Live**

sss

"What are you doing, Sal?"

Salvazsahar – formerly Harry – looked up from his work.

"I am working on my third circle of strengthening runes" he answered his father.

It had been one year since Salvazsahar had been reborn. Since then he had started to learn the way of the druids. His father had taught him potions, charms, transfiguration, herb-lore and ritual-theory. He had also taught him Arithmancy, Astrology and knife- fighting. Parsel-magic and language studies were mixed in all his classes.

One of the most important things Sal had learned was Occlumency and Legilimency.

His father had been very insistent in these two disciples because they were the only ones that shielded Sal from being exposed as a time-traveller by another more ruthless druid.

At first, learning under his father had been hard. After Sal had gained his staff he had thought, that his lessons would get more Hogwarts-like. He had been wrong. He did not learn spells like the spells in Hogwarts anymore. There still were spells, of course, but the most of them were long chantings and mostly used to aid in a ritual or with a potion.

Crying spells out and fire them at each other did simply not exist.

That didn't mean there was no battle-magic. Runes, written with your empty hand in mid-air or drawn in the ground with your staff, was Sal's new fighting-style.

There were also no wand-movements. He had not to remember how to swing his staff to get a result in his spellwork – a lot of spells he used in daily life were wandless anyway, which had been especially hart on Sal first – but he had no choice. His staff was unable to call out magic like his wand had. Sal had tried it. He had tried a simple _lumos-_spell with his staff but was unable to get a result. When he had asked his father, Myrddin had answered that this shortened form of magic – Myrddin had never heard of a possibility to just shout a word and swing your staff – was maybe something that needed a more focused staff as they were able to make now. So Sal had to learn the druid's way. He had to know how the runes looked he wanted to draw, how and where to place them in full-fledged rituals and how to use his staff not only in magic but also in fighting against mundane weapons.

Sal loved and hated it the same time.

After some month Sal also had started in blood rituals. These were rituals every druid had to do to strengthen their body and their magic and finally waking their blood. Without them, Sal would not be allowed to do more than ritual-theory.

The blood-rituals were there to protect Sal's mind and body when using his magic for other rituals. They were the foundation every druid had to have before being allowed to call himself a druid. Sal did not know what would happen if he had not done the blood rituals but had attempted a ritual nevertheless – and he didn't want to know.

He had learned the hard way, that Myrddin and Ollivanneder would not hold back any answers to his questions, even if they were just asked out of fun without expecting an answer – and some things you were better not knowing… like doing rituals without blood-magic, or the sex-lives of your parents and godparents…

"So you will finish with your body strengthening rituals in the next few moons?" Myrddin asked.

"I think so" Sal answered, still calculating the places where the individual runes had to sit on his back.

"How far are you with your memory-runes?" These were another layer of runes to improve his memory – not that Sal needed them. Since the rebirth he hadn't forgotten anything. Instead he had begun to remember. Daily the past days of his life had returned to him, filled with a clearness Sal had never had before.

First it had been forgotten days at the Dursleys' and Hogwarts and also things he had read or learned but had not remembered anymore but after a while he suddenly started to remember his parents and the one year he had with them. It was a gift to him, even if he had to remember the strained faces his parents had worn the last month before their deaths and also the day his parents had died with every cruel detail.

And he did not just start to remember, he also did not forget anymore. Whatever he was told, he remembered even weeks later. Every lesson he had been given on his way to his new home he had remembered and some details he had not grasped at that time he suddenly understood.

He had inherited his new father's ability to memorize everything and finally he understood why Myrddin had hated it to repeat everything over and over again. His father had simply not understood that Sal's memory wasn't as good as his own…

But even if he knew now how his father felt and was now able to remember with just hearing it once, he was not sure if he liked that.

It had not been just good memories that returned to him and suddenly some of the actions of some people who had been in the future around him, seemed different.

He now remembered clearly the guiding in the "right" direction he had gotten in first year. At that time, it had been veiled to him. Hagrid was a nice fellow, taking him away from his mundane relatives, showing him an absolutely new world. But now Sal asked himself how it had happened, that _Hagrid _had been the one to introduce him to the wizard world.

Of course, Hagrid was huge and intimidating – but Sal had been a target, a target that knew nothing about the mark that had marred his back, signing him up to be shot by a Death Eater.

So why had it been Hagrid?

Why not McGonagall, Professor Flitwick or even Snape?

And how come there was no pamphlet or something else that could tell him something about his new world?

Shouldn't he know some things like the customs, culture or history of the wizarding world before he entered Hogwarts?!

Sal banished the thoughts and turned back to his father's question about his memory-runes.

"I will start with the first layer tonight." Sal answered. "I have prepared the potions and the stone-circle isn't used by anyone else, so there should be no problem."

They were still living in Loandom, but in their own cottage. The city was a magical one – Sal had started to suspect, that it later would become Diagon Alley – and the villagers all knew Sal as Myrddin's son.

Sal hadn't been introduced to them until they had completed the rebirth so that the villagers never knew that Sal first wasn't born as Myrddin's son. And after that there had been no evidence that he ever wasn't. His accent in speaking Cymráeg had dwindled after the ritual and the other languages of the island had come to him naturally.

Now, a year later Sal was as fluent in Cymráeg and Brezhoneg as if he was brought up with them. He could speak the other island-languages enough to understand the most of them and was learning Egyptian. After that his father had told him they would start on Latin, Greek and Norse.

Sal did not really look forward to it, but he did not protest. His father had told him, that at some time Sal would likely leave Loandom to seek his way home – and who would know where he would have to go to find it…

"What about the magic strengthening ones?" His father asked in that moment and Sal returned his concentration on the runes in the sandy earth in front of him.

"I have done the first layer two month ago. My second one is ready – I have just to wait until the memory-layer will have settled." He answered dutifully. "And I have started on the blood-wakening."

"That's good." Sal looked up when he heard the colouring of his father's voice.

"Is something troubling you, atr?" he asked.

"Yes." His father answered and sat down next to him on the ground in their hut. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What is it?" Sal asked now stopping to calculate and laying down the stick he had been using to draw the runes.

"It is about you – about your body" Myrddin said. "I noticed that you did not age since you came here."

Sal blinked and Myrddin brushed one of Sal's strands of hair out of Sal's face. Salvazsahar's hair had grown the last year and was now falling to his shoulders.

"I… I did not age?" Sal repeated, not sure if he understood his father correctly.

"Yes, you did not" Myrddin answered the positive. "I was not sure first, but I watched you the whole last year and you did not age a single day since I found you."

"So… I will stay fifteen – forever?!" Sal asked, unsure how to feel about that.

"I am not sure" his father answered. "But I have made up a theory."

"A theory?"

"You are not from this time. Even if you have been reborn here – you still should not exist here because there are no circumstances that would have led to your existence." His father elaborated. "So your body might be in stasis until you return to your rightful time. That means you would be able to grow in mind, but not in body until then."

"But… what is with dying?" Sal asked.

"My theory suspects, that you won't be able to die until you are back in your own time. You are timeless until you reach the day you left your own time. After that you should age normally."

"So I will be fifteen for the next thousand or two thousand years?!" Sal asked horrified.

"Normally I would say yes" answered Myrddin. "But there is a chance, that when we wake your blood you will gain the control over your age. Like the phoenix who decide when they want to age and when they want to be reborn again, you might be able to change your age. But we will have to look into that, when you have finalized your blood-wakening. Until then I fear you will not age."

"And what will we tell the others until then?" Sal asked.

"I never told them how old you are. If you finalize your blood-wakening until the winter after next winter – and I am sure you will – we won't have to tell them anything." Myrddin answered. "Then you are simply younger then they may first have thought."

"Well… when you think that that's all right" Sal finally answered. Myrddin smiled at him and ruffled his hair before standing up.

"Complete your ritual tonight and work on your others" He said. "I am sure the rest will come in time."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Myrddin had been right. Two years later the still fifteen years old Salvazsahar finally, after a long, tiring night, completed the blood-wakening runes on his body.

He had been sitting on the stone-bed in the middle of the stone-circle since midday the day before and now the night ended and the sun greeted him again.

His whole body ached and dried blood clung to his body like a second skin. His arms, torso, feet and face where carved with runes, one of the most complicated circles on the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Every carved rune was very small and very precisely cut. They were arranged in circles, waves and symmetrical pattern and did just habituate some parts of his body.

Sal knew the carving would heal and the runes sink under his skin, like all the other ones had done that he had placed the last two years on his body.

This was the final layer of the blood-wakening runes – the final layer for now. After that he would be able to call himself a druid – even if he would add different layers of runes over the years that would come. Blood-rune magic like that was the only protection when he worked with rituals. They strengthened his grip on his magic and body, strengthened his mind and memory and wakened the creature – Firbolg – blood in him so that it could aid him in his task.

These runes also lengthened his life because of the strengthening and the more thoroughly connection with his inherited blood and soul. It was normal to never stop with blood-rune magic. Every experience, every new knowledge would be put in runes on his body so that he had aid when he needed it while doing rituals. The more blood-runes the more control he had over the rituals – it was as simple as that.

Sal sighted, then he let go of his knife which he had directed only with his will and magic to carve the runes on his back.

The knife clattered on the stone-bed and Sal stood up and broke the circle he had drawn in the earth of the stone-circle. With that he destroyed the lingering shield-runes and suddenly pain shot through his body. But that was something Sal had expected. The circle might shield him from these emotions until he broke it, but after that he was on his own.

So Sal sat back on the stone-bed again and closed his eyes. He had had to first destroy the runic circle before activating his own runes. When he wouldn't the circle and his freshly carved body-runes would have easily been able to interact – and that could have been lethal for Sal.

But now, after destroying the rune circle, Sal could try out his carvings. When he had done them right, his pain would succumb but when he had done them wrong… well, then he would never have to worry about something else.

Sal searched for his magic, and then let it flow through his carvings.

Incredible pain flowed through his body. His eyes, ears and teeth started burning, then his chest and fingertips followed. After that his skin felt as if it was lit with fire.

One moment long Sal thought he had failed and was now paying the price, but then his pain succumbed to a throbbing and finally ended.

Sal blinked and opened his eyes again. He starred down to his fingertips, but they were not different then before. Then he felt his ears – and they were. It was not something most would notice but when Sal felt his ears he could feel that the former round tops were now slightly pointed – elf-like.

So Sal turned his attention to his teeth. They seemed to be a little bit sharper but except of that did not feel different.

"Well… I will find out" Sal thought and blinked. Just to see a shadow fleeing on both sides of his eyes. What…?

"You seemed to have inherited my eyes" Sal looked up and saw his father approaching. His vision zoomed in and suddenly he could see his father clearer than ever. A strange, red, orange and white mist seemed to round him.

"What…?"

"Basilisk-eyes" his father answered. "Yours are still green in its colouring – not that I expected something different – but they are now as deadly for another creature like the eyes of every other Basilisk."

"So I can kill with my eyes?!" Sal asked horrified.

"Kill with your eyes and heal with your tears, I bet" his father answered. "The same as I. Maybe you also have the Basilisk venom, we will see. First you should close your second eyelids before anyone else approaches."

"Second eyelids?" Sal asked.

"You should see their shadow when you blink."

"Oh!" Sal concentrated on the eyelids and closed them without effort. To his amazement he could still see clearly through them. The only different was that the red mist around his father was gone.

"What is this red mist I was seeing?" he asked his father.

"Body heat." Myrddin answered and cupped Sal's chin.

"You have gotten some nice ears." He commented. "Your elven- heritage, I am sure. Well, the rest will show itself in time."

"There will be more?"

"There is more, son. You just don't know it, yet." Myrddin answered. "But the most important one is now your ability to age. Try to concentrate on your body and will it to age."

Sal closed his eyes and concentrated. Then he tried to imagine himself older. First nothing happened, then his skin prickled and finally stopped.

Sal opened his eyes again.

"Did it work?" he asked.

Myrddin looked him over.

"It did" he answered and Sal sighted felt relieve creeping through his body. No-one would ever notice that he was not really aging anymore…

"Try to turn younger again" Myrddin said. "We will have to see if it works also like that."

Sal nodded and closed his eyes. Again his skin prickled and when he opened his eyes his father nodded.

"Good" he said and let go of Sal's chin. "So this problem is gone."

"Can you also do it?" Sal asked interested.

"I can" Myrddin answered. "But don't forget: Just because you look older doesn't mean your body really is. It is still held in stasis and even if it looks twenty it will still be fifteen, understood?"

"So changing my age will also not change the day I die?" Sal asked.

"No" Myrddin answered. "When your body is old, it is old – even if it looks as if it is still fourteen."

"I understand."

"And now, let's go home. Your godfather is waiting there to congratulate you and we won't make him wait, will we?"

"No" Sal answered, standing up and picking up his clothes. On the way home they stopped at the river so that Sal was able to wash himself.

After that they returned home where Ollivanneder was waiting.

The life went on and finally, ten years later Sal and his father left Loandom again to travel. Over a hundred years they travelled together. They went to Egypt, Rome and the North to look for a way home for Sal.

They did not find anything.

No-one had even heard about time-travel and so there was not even the slightest evidence about a way back to the future. When Myrddin finally decided he had travelled enough and returned to Britain, Sal turned East and went to China, Japan and India.

He would not return home for the next centuries and so Myrddin would first see his son again in 370 BC when Salvazsahar finally decided to return home to his father to catch some breath.

At that time Sal would have learned foreign languages and their writing, foreign customs and magic no-one ever heard about in Britain. He would have learned the material arts to their fullest and also would have learned about the connection between body, mind and magic. His knowledge would be tenfold – but nothing he learned would give him even a clue how to return to his own time.

There simply was no-one who ever travelled in time.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	9. Chapter 8: Grimauld Place No 12

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_**Oliver Twist:**__ I decided to update chapter 3 to explain about the name 'Oliver Twist'. I also decided to add my explaining how it came to be here so that no questions will be asked about it anymore:_

_Last year I read the book 'Oliver Twist' and I liked the name. I thought the figure of Oliver Twist was fitting for Harry Potter as a synonym when I started to think about a Slytherin!Harry story and a different way for him to go against the Ministry – I just had no idea how he would do it. _

_Then I read __**Celestial Requiem**__ by __**Raven Dagonclaw **__and decided to use the Daily Prophet for his protest. I researched the Daily Prophet in the books and found it too bias to even decide to print anything 'Oliver Twist' would print. So I decided that Harry should challenge the Daily Prophet along the Ministry and that he should use the Quibbler to do so. _

_A friend then told me about__** GenkaiFan's Poison Pen**__ and that she/he was doing the same as I had planned. So I read Poison Pen and decided to ask for permission to do the same as it really was quiet similar. I got the permission to use the same idea._

_I am sorry I forgot to add this when I first posted 'A Twisted Message'. I decided to update it, to correct the mistake and to bow to GenkaiFan whose story is all I hope mine will be some day._

_**And now on with the story…**_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Grimauld Place No 12**

sss

Harry had been right. As soon as the Dursley's had left the house at the fourth night he was there, he could hear other voices in the kitchen downstairs. His magic told him the rest. His senses showed him, that Harry's old Defence professor was one of the new inhabitants of the kitchen. He grinned and stood up. With a simple swish of his hand the things the previous Harry had spread on the floor found its way back in his trunk.

Then he left his room, Harry's wand out, walking as if he was afraid.

"_Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out" said a low, growling voice. _Harry did not lower his wand, even if he knew this voice. Instead he played along with the afraid-fifteen-year-old-role he planed.

"_Professor Moody?" _he said, sounding uncertain.

"_I don't know so much about 'Professor", growled the voice, "never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."_

Harry knew Moody would see through the glamour he was using for his hair, but he was now wearing Dudley's cast-off so there was nothing else that was strange with his appearance – and his hair he could easily explain.

As Harry predicted, Moody raised an eyebrow when he saw Harry's hair. But he said nothing, when Remus Lupin began to speak.

"_It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away." _It was really strange to be called "Harry". But he said nothing, except:

"_P-Professor Lupin? Is that you?" _

"_Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a third voice, a woman's. "_Lumos."

And suddenly Harry could see the people in front of him, and not just sense them. He knew the most of them, even if he shouldn't. He had been watching Grimauld Place often enough to know them by now. There were Kingsley Shacklebold, an Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, another Auror, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones. No-one new. He heard them murmuring about his appearance.

"_He looks exactly like James" _was the second part of Kingsley's speech to Remus. "_Except the eyes – Lily's eyes." _Another one said. Harry said nothing. It was not his place to tell them, that he did not look exactly like James – but he could not argue with Lily's eyes. He was family after all.

Instead he focused on Moody who eyed him with distrust in his eyes.

"_Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"_

The truth serum was nothing Harry would like to have, but a question that was easy. He was sure, he could answer the entire question they would throw at him. And Moody was right: He _could _be a Death Eater impersonating Harry. Not that he was – a Death Eater, mind you, impersonating Harry he of course did.

"If there just would be a real Harry." He thought, but said nothing and waited instead for the question.

"_Harry, what form does your Patronus take?" Lupin asked._

"_A stag" _Harry answered lying. It wasn't a stag. Well, he _could _change it to a stag – but when he didn't it was a Phoenix. It had been a Phoenix for a very long time.

"_That's him, Mad-Eye" said Lupin _and Harry nearly snorted. One simple question and they believed him?! And then it was a question about something another person would have easily seen for themselves would they just have been near Harry while he was casting. Not very secure – but well…

He stowed Harry's wand in his back pocked, while descending the stairs.

"_Don't put your wand there, boy!" roared Moody. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!"_

While Tonks asked Moody about whom he knew who lost his buttocks and Moody was grumbling about wand-safety Harry discretely took out his wand again and slipped it in his wand-holster, where he carried one of his own. He would need to finish his extra for Harry's wand, but it would do until he got it ready. He just had to wait until it was as secure as the other ones – secure enough that even Moody could not locate them. And it was better like that. He would have a hard time explaining the other wands and of course the rest of the weaponry he was carrying.

So he instead asked Remus if they were leaving and where they were going.

"_Where are we going?" _He asked, trying to sound hopeful while hoping he was wrong. "_The Burrow?"_

"_Not The Burrow, no" _Remus replied to Harry's delight. "_Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while…"_

So they _were _going to Grimauld Place! Harry was so happy, that he didn't mind anything else this night. He let the introduction to the other members flow over himself and when he was send to pack he needed not more than a few minutes.

And then they were gone, flying through the night sky to London until they reached Grimauld. There Harry got a notice written in Dumbledore's hand and they finally entered the building Harry had been longing to get into for a few months now – Grimauld Place No 12.

Just before Harry could leave the hall, Moody stopped him. With a whispered "_Here" _he ended the Disillusionment Charm, but then held him back again while everyone entered in the kitchen.

"Why the glamour?" he growled whispering.

"My aunt doesn't like long hair" Harry answered. "So I found a glamour charm and applied it in school when I wanted to have long hair. My aunt doesn't see it, what makes her happy, and I have not as much trouble with long hair as with short, what makes me happy."

He stopped, then asked hesitating. "Will you end it?"

Moody snorted.

"A glamour for your hair? No, when you want to glamour it, do it. As long as it's just as little as that, do what you like – just do it in school and not at home."

"Yes, sir." And with that, Moody let him go. Harry had known that Moody would be able to see right through the glamour. But that was planed. It would have been more difficult when Moody would not have been able to see through it, but would have known it was there. Like that, he had just explain one party why he had glamoured his hair, would it have been different he might have had to drink Veritaserum – and that was something Harry would like to prevent. Of course he could have just cut his hair, but that was something he had not want to do. He hated to have short hair. And he would not have been able to cast a more undetectable glamour on his forehead – the scar that had to look like the original Harry's. But that was not all.

Someone in his position did not wear short hair – even if no-one told the previous Harry something like that…

Well, the previous Harry had not even been told about his position… but Harry would change that. He would play along until he was ready and then he would show them, that _he _wasn't Harry Potter.

It just would take some time.

Harry started to follow Mad-Eye in the kitchen, but was prevented from entering by Mrs Weasley who sent him up to the other children. Harry was alright with that. He was not interested in their strategies – well, he was, but he had Dobby to listen in. So instead of trying to listen, he slipped upstairs and opened one of the rooms to get in – and suddenly he was attacked by a very large quantity of bushy brown hair. In the last minute he recognised his attacker and stopped mid-casting. Not that anyone had noticed the spell…

"_HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how _are _you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless – but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us – the Dementors! When we heard – and that Ministry hearing – it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations – "_

"_Let him breathe, Hermione", said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind Harry._

Hermione did as she was told, and let Hedwig greet him, whom he hadn't seen since he had sent her to his friends. He let her nibble at his ear while still looking at his friends. Friends he had not talked to – friends who knew just the previous Harry. He instead was a foreigner. Looking like Harry, but not being him. He had no idea how the original Harry would have greeted them…

"We're really sorry" the boy said in that moment – Ron, Harry reminded himself, his name is Ron. "I know, you wanted answers the whole summer, but we couldn't give them. You know, _Hermione was going to spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us – "_

" – _swear not to tell me" said Harry _while still wondering how previous Harry would have reacted to this news. "_Yeah, Hermione's already said."_

"_He seemed to think it was best" said Hermione rather breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."_

Of course she did.

Dumbledore this, Dumbledore that. Harry had known his friends were used to follow Dumbledore's path, but he had never known how much influence the old man had. He sighted.

"_I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles – " Ron began._

"_Yeah?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows. "Have either of _you _been attacked by Dementors this summer?"_

"_Well, no – but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time – "_

This time Harry nearly grinned.

"_Didn't work that well, though, did it?" said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"_

"_He was so angry" said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary."_

This time Harry didn't reply. He had heard enough. Hermione was hero-worshiping the old man and Ron wasn't better. He sighted inwardly. Of course, the man was hero-worshiped by them. They were children. But Harry wasn't – and Harry was sure, that he could be even scarier when he wanted to be. Dumbledore was just a puppet-player, no thread at all to someone who could strike from the shadows…

But the most of his people were Gryffindors – unable to see his flaws and blindly believing his words. But Harry wasn't a Gryffindor. He was the absolute Slytherin – and he would strike when he had Dumbledore cornered without the old man knowing of anything…

But first there was something else, Harry had to do…

That was the moment when he saw that his friends were staring at him as if waiting that a bomb erupted.

"Don't worry. I'm not angry", he said.

"You're not?" He could hear that Ron didn't believe him the slightest.

He shrugged.

"I knew they were following me. And I know, Dumbledore would never have let me leave my relatives when the Dementors wouldn't have happened – but that's fine. I knew he would bring me away from there as soon as the Dementors left. I don't like dwelling in the past. What happened, happened."

"But… but you have tried to get information from us the whole summer" Ron said stunned. "Why just suddenly give up?"

"Oh, I haven't given up at all" Harry answered grinning, "but I will not ask you, when you have sworn not to tell. I will get it from someone else…"

"Sirius?", Hermione asked with a knowing glance and Harry just smiled. No need to tell her, that he didn't need most of the information at all – that he had gotten them weeks or month ago… some of them even years ago…

He saw them relaxing and even later, when Fred and George tried to get some information through their extendable ears he just sat beside them, listening uninterested.

That was, until the meeting ended and the adults left. When Mrs Weasley came to get them to eat in the kitchen. She had just advised Harry to tip-toe down the stairs, when…

CRASH.

Tonks was lying on the ground. And while Mrs Weasley cried the young woman's name and said woman apologized, the curtains in the hall opened and the screeching voice of an old lady screamed:

"_Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers – "_

Harry stared at the screaming painting and when his eyes and the eyes of the painted woman met, he smiled at her – a gruesome smile, his eyes cold as death. Then he dared her to follow his gaze to his right hand, where a single ring sat, invisible for all he didn't want to see and saw back in her eyes.

Her eyes had widened. She knew. She knew who he was – and he knew she wouldn't dare to befoul _his_ name. There were few families the members of the old families feared, but his was one of them – even if it was just because of the connections his house had. So even when she dared to befoul all the others – she would never say anything foul to him again…

In that moment Sirius stormed in the hall and drew her curtains shut. No-one had seen Harry's short communication, had seen the woman stopping screeching before Sirius had reached her.

"_Hello, Harry" Sirius said grimly. "I see you've met my mother."_

Harry had. And he had silenced her in the second their eyes met.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	10. Chapter 9: The House of Black

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_sSsSsSs_

_Harry birthday to me, Harry birthday to me, Harry birthday, dear Ebenbild. Harry birthday to me!_

_For my birthday I decided to add an extra chapter (even if it's just a small one)_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**The Noble And Most Ancient House of Black**

sss

The rest of the evening was quite entertaining for Harry. While Mrs. Weasley did all to stop Harry from getting any information, Sirius seemed determined that Harry should know as much as possible about the mess.

But Harry guessed that his godfather also had wanted to make it up to Harry. Not, that Sirius thought that Harry did have a horrible summer. Harry thought that at the beginning until Sirius had stated:_ "Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."_

At that Harry had been incredulous, but the answer he got told him everything.

"_Personally, I'd have welcomed a Dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights… I've been stuck inside for a month."_ Sirius had said and Harry had connected the spots in his head.

"_How come?" asked Harry, _officially _frowning. _But inside his mind had been reeling. His godfather sounded not like an adult – he sounded like a boy, searching for adventure and danger. Harry had not liked the thought of that very much. Feeling restless like that was the first mistake that lead to the path of death…

"_Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix… or so Dumbledore feels."_

And there had been the second part that had started to let Sirius feel bitter. Dumbledore. Harry could hear it in Sirius voice every time Dumbledore had been brought up this evening. But not just then. He had also heard it in different arguments – and not just that.

Harry had heard not only Sirius bitterness but also the arguing of the others, especially Mrs. Weasley.

One of the most telling sentences was her:_ "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"_

Dumbledore.

Dumbledore.

And Dumbledore again.

As if her argument would count more when it was Dumbledore who had ordered it. As if you had to obey because of Dumbledore.

Harry filled away what he heard for later. Maybe he could use it. Now he did not need information like that. He had different things at hand – like the argument Sirius at that moment had with Mrs. Weasley about Harry being James.

"_He's not _James, _Sirius!"_ Mrs. Weasley said furiously. Sirius answer was as heated as hers, even if his voice sounded cold, when he said: _"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly" _

"_I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"_

Well, that was some new approach.

Did they now fully confuse him with his father?!

Harry shrugged inwardly and returned to other things interesting him about the way his godfather acted.

He still listened to their argument about him, but this time a little lost in his thoughts. His mind drifted back to the time they were eating dinner, when Sirius had told him about the usefulness of Mundungus Fletcher. Harry still could taste the bitterness in Sirius voice when he commented that Mundungus was useful to the Order – not saying that he himself felt anything but.

Oh, yes. His godfather was bitter – and a lot of antipathy was heeding right at Dumbledore and his chronicle decease to toy with his… pawns…

Harry was sure that Sirius would spring into action as soon as he was able to.

Maybe…

Well, this thought had merit, but Harry would not decide for now. He had different things to do – and a maturity of these would not be solved in the next few hours…

But it needn't to be solved by them. Instead he waited till they had spilled everything to him that they wanted to say – inwardly laughing when Sirius used the term 'weapon' to describe Dumbledore's great plan.

Weapon.

Well, Harry knew Dumbledore's weapon.

Its name was Harry and it was fifteen years old.

Regrettably Harry was no longer available.

But that information was strictly secured until further notice and because of that not shareable.

Not that Harry really felt sorry for Dumbledore and his schemes.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Finally the day ended and the others went to bed. Of course, Harry followed and after that waited until he heard the snoring sounds of Ron.

It was way after midnight until Harry dared to leave the room again. He descended the stairs and stopped in front of the curtain which concealed the portrait. Warily he opened the curtain. The portrayed dame – Sirius's mother – stared at him, but reminded silence as soon as she saw who had dared to open the curtain.

"Lady Black" Harry said courtly.

"Lord Malfoy" she answered.

Harry smiled.

"It's Malfoire" he corrected her. "The English part of my family might call themselves Malfoy now – but I am part of the original House."

"Malfoire" the lady echoed. "Well, how come a pure-blood from a respectable family like yours is in company of blood-traitors and mudbloods?"

"I am scheming something" Harry answered shrugging. "And I am not only Lord Malfoire. I have also some other Houses to my name – and not one of them you would dare to cross. Truth to be told, Malfoire is even the least ancient."

"But you decided to go by their name" Lady Black said, raising an eyebrow. Harry shrugged.

"I am no Lord in my mother's House" he answered casually. "One day I might be, but until then I am still the heir."

"So you used your father's House" Lady Black said. "Pray tell, which House is your mother's? You seemed convinced that it would frighten me more."

Harry just smiled at her and asked.

"The protection-layer the old man laid upon the house – will it stop me from leaving and entering again or will it show someone that I did leave?"

The Lady frowned.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to fetch some…thing" Harry finally said. "I need to know."

"The old man… you are talking about the Headmaster of Hogwarts – Dumbledore?"

"I am. And I know that he is out of a respectable family. That does not count anything." Harry answered.

"He is one of the Gryffindor-heirs" the Lady said. "It should count something."

"The House of Gryffindor did not follow his line – even if he wants the people to believe that." Harry said. "Truth to be told, the Houses of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw both never existed in the first place."

Now the lady was intrigued.

"So you want to tell me that every family tree with their names in it are lies?" The old lady asked coolly. Harry shrugged again.

"I just wanted to tell you that there has never been a House of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. There were some family members who carried on these names because they did not want to carry on their original ones – but the Houses themselves never existed."

"And how do you know?" The lady asked chilly.

"Don't worry, madam" Harry answered smiling. "Your House still is close kin to Hufflepuff – and much closer to Slytherin himself."

"Slytherin?" the Lady asked astonished. "I never knew. I knew of Hufflepuff – but there was no entrance that we are descendants of Slytherin."

"Oh, you are not" Harry answered shrugging. "You are close kin, not descendants – but that's something I cannot tell you tonight. I need to know of the shields and wards tonight, I might tell you your relationship with Slytherin some other day."

Lady Black sighted. Then she called: "Kreature!"

An old house-elf popped in, looking expectantly at his mistress, the sneer at Harry barely concealed.

"Kreature" Lady Black said. "This is the Lord Malfoire. He is a pure-blood and kin to us and you will treat him like that, do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress" the house-elf answered and his sneer vanished, now looking at Harry with interest in his eyes.

"He asked to leave the house without being seen" Lady Black continued. "Bring him, accompany him by whatever he wants to do and after that bring him back. Understood?"

"Yes, mistress" Kreature answered and gazed at Harry. "When Milord is ready, Kreature will bring him wherever he wants."

"Just in front of the house for tonight, Kreature" Harry said softly. "I might have a surprise for you and the Lady Black."

The portrayed woman raised an unbelieving eyebrow but stayed silence.

Kreature just extended his hand and when Harry took it, popped him out of the House.

Harry looked the street up and down.

"Reg?" he asked and waited until a black cat had left the shadows.

"The street's empty except of me and Kreature, Reg – and I believe it would be better to do it here than in the house. I don't want to wake someone."

The cat stared at him, then it nodded and a second later instead of a cat a man stood there with black hair and grey-blue eyes.

Kreature stared at him unbelievingly.

"Master Regulus!" he finally cried, flinging his arms around Reg's waist while wailing his eyes out. "Master Regulus is still alive!"

"Yes I am, Kreature" Regulus said, awkwardly patting the house-elf's shoulder. "And I am sorry that I just come home now. I am sorry I did not return as soon as I could, really, really sorry."

Harry snorted. He knew, Reg wasn't really sorry. Oh, Reg was sorry to leave Kreature behind because he loved the house-elf like a family member – but he wasn't sorry not to return home. He had not wanted to return and tell his mother about his changed view.

But that was something Reg would never tell poor Kreature.

"We should return to the house, Reg" Harry said and Kreature turned to look at him.

"Lord Malfoire is a wonderful wizard" Kreature declared. "Lord Malfoire brings young Master Regulus home. Lord Malfoire is a very absolutely wonderful wizard that he is!"

Harry smiled at the creature in front of him.

"It's Harry, Kreature" he corrected the house-elf. "No-one is allowed to know that I am Lord Malfoire. I go by Harry Potter at the moment."

Kreature stared at him, then he nodded seriously.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir" he said. "Kreature will not squeal on the blood-traitors and mudbloods who Lord Malfoire is. Lord Malfoire's secret is save with Kreature."

"Kreature, you mustn't tell anyone about Lord Malfoire" Reg said intensely. "It is most important for the things I and Harry want to accomplish."

"Yes, Master Regulus sir!" the house-elf said with gleaming eyes. "Everything the master commands."

Harry laughed at that.

"We seem to have another pair of eyes for us" he grinned at Reg. The other one shrugged.

"Let's wait and see" he said and then commanded Kreature to bring them back in.

The house-elf obeyed and a second later they were again standing in front of the portrait.

Lady Black gawked at them.

"Regulus!" she shrieked, Harry's silencing spell was just in time to prevent the rest of the house hearing her.

"Hello, mother" the young man answered. "I heard you're torturing my brother now."

The lady blinked.

"I am not torturing your brother, Regulus" she said.

"I hope you don't" Reg answered. "We need him for later. When he's crazy until then we could have some problems."

"But it also would make some things easier, Reg" Harry joked.

"Stop it, Harry" Reg snorted. "Do not lead me into temptation."

Harry just shrugged.

"I should return to bed" he said. "Ask Kreature about the locked and stow it away safely. We will have to do it later. We need a secured and clean space where I can draw the protection, this will take some time."

"It will" Reg answered and turned to Kreature. "When did you last clean in this house?"

Kreature squirmed under Reg's gaze.

"Kreature will begin now" he answered, still squirming. "Kreature will have it clean pretty soon."

"Don't" Reg answered. "Better leave it like that, so that the… guests… don't suspect anything wrong."

Kreature nodded dutifully.

"Just clean a room they are not occupying and rescue the library books. I also need the locket I asked you to destroy."

Kreature winced.

"I now know you had no way to destroy it" Reg said soothingly. "I am sorry I asked you something you had no way to fulfil. I know if you had had a way you would have done it. Don't punish yourself for it."

At that, Kreature wailed again and hugged Reg.

"Master Regulus is a great wizard" he howled. "He does forgive bad Kreature for not obeying his command!"

"I told you it wasn't you fault" Reg said earnestly. "I don't want you to punish yourself for something you cannot do in the first place. I will destroy it myself. I now know how."

"Yourself, huh?" Harry asked. "I was not aware that you are able to do it yourself now, Reg. Should I go and leave you to your task?"

"You know what I mean, S… Harry!" Reg growled. "And I _could _do it myself – the object just would not survive."

"Maybe I should let you do it then. The locket is an ugly thing – I would not cry if it was destroyed."

"Harry!" Reg stared at him as if he was mad. "The locket belonged to Slytherin – do you know the value of something like that?!"

"It's still nothing special" Harry answered shrugging. "And just because you live and breath the Founders today I don't have to think differently of something as ugly as that."

"And I thought you were born a Slytherin" Reg said shaking his head.

Harry stared at him.

"I'm quite sure my father's surname was not Slytherin" he told Reg. Reg snorted.

"I'm sure it wasn't" he confirmed. "But I did it not mean it like that – and you know that."

"Of course" Harry shrugged, then grinned. "But I liked to take it like that."

"Harry…"

"Oh, stop it, Reg" Harry said.

"But…"

"No, I will go to bed now. You can receive the ugly locket and hide it. We will destroy it as soon as Kreacher has a ritual-room ready. Good Night."

Reg sighted, but answered.

"Good Night" and with that Harry was of to bed.

Under his pillow was lying an edition of _The Quibbler_, one, that Harry had received two days ago. He grinned. In it there was a special section which showed a letter written to the _Daily Prophet _some days ago.

Beneath it, Xenophilius Lovegood, the editor of _The Quibbler_ had written his answers. _The Quibbler_ Harry had was an edition in advance, because it was a weekly paper and would be released on Thursday every week.

The next Thursday would be Harry found it a very fitting time. It was the day of his trial – a very fitting day indeed.

Harry smirked at that, remembering his letter and the answer he had received:

_sSsSs_

_Dear Mr. Twist_

_My name is Xenophilius Lovegood and I am the editor of the Quibbler._

_I know, I am not the editor you wanted to answer your letter – nevertheless I will try as I was intrigued when I read that someone so young like you dares to question our world and our press._

_Such courage and interest needs to be supported and so I decided to answer your questions to the best of my knowledge._

_My competitor, the _Daily Prophet _is a private publishing newspaper, whose shareholders decide what will be printed and what not. The same goes for my newspaper, but the difference is, that my newspaper solely has two shareholders. The _Daily Prophet _has many. The major ones are the Ministry – which has the majority – and a French family, I think._

_Definitely fact is, that the Ministry, as the major stockholder definitely can make sure that the _Daily Prophet _will following its lead. _

_Because of that, many of the articles the _Daily Prophet _writes, may contain facts, but they are also printed in a fashion that would indeed mislead the reader. So you should read every article that is printed with the thought in mind that my dear competitor tries to show the Ministry in its best light._

_Another fact is, that there are definitely reporters in the _Daily Prophet _who are using Quick Quote Quills. Because of this, a lot of their news are inaccurate or simply false. My dear competitor seems not to care about proven facts and has little regard of accuracy in any form._

_That shows also the fact that there are no consequences when the reporter uses Quick Quote Quills or faulty information._

_Of course, that leads to your question about serious journalism and the freedom of the press. Well, I can't say much about that except: As long as the Ministry is the major shareholder in the _Daily Prophet _there may be serious journalism all you like – it just will not be printed when it does not favor the shareholders._

_And when you want to see freedom of the press, you should not look at the _Daily Prophet._ It might be a private newspaper but even as a private one you are just as free, as your shareholders let you be._

_Luckily, I am one of the two shareholders of _The Quibbler _and because of that able to decide what to print on my own._

_When you ever have another question, just write me and I am willing to answer as good as I can._

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Editor-in-chief of _The Quibbler

_sSsSs_

"Let's see how the Ministry will react when their game is published publicly." Harry thought while closing his eyes. "I want to see them running with their tails between their legs – and it will end with that. This is just the beginning…"

And Harry did mean it. He knew he would not be able to do a lot until his trial, but slowly his game started – it just needed to finalize some major parts before he could finally move against the major players.

Harry would be waiting.

Waiting did not bother him. He was good at waiting.

Very good.

"Time for revenge" he whispered, then closed his eyes and slept.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_And on to Sal…_


	11. Chapter 10: 370 BC Catching Some Breath

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 370 BC**

**Catching Some Breath**

sss

When Sal returned the next time to Britannia, Loandom had turned into a village with mixed heritage. There were still druids but now there also were mundanes living beside them in harmony.

Sal strived through the streets, looking for the old part of Loandom. There were not many streets but it still took him some time to find his childhood home again. The house had changed. It had gotten a wooden door and a bench was sitting in front of it. In front of bench and door, two men were standing, arguing.

"I _wish_ to travel, uncle", the younger one said in that moment. "I am a staff maker and my profession is also needed elsewhere! They cannot all come to me to get a staff! I need to travel like father…!"

"You are too young, Dewin! Ask me again when you have reached the winter after next", the older one replied.

"I am a druid, uncle! Father would have let me go if…"

"Your father is dead and I will not let you go out there alone so that you can get yourself also killed!"

"I am old enough…!"

"You, Dewin, are a child! You know nothing of the world and its dangers! I will not get you killed! Your father would have slain me if I did!"

"But…"

Sal finally decided to interrupt the argument that seemed to go no were.

"I am home, atr", he greeted his father, the older one of the opponents. Myrddin Emrys turned when he heard Sal's voice and suddenly he smiled.

"Salvazsahar", he said, "you're back!"

The other one also turned to look at Sal, his eyes curious about the stranger that Salvazsahar was to him.

Sal bowed lightly to the foreign man to greet him – a bow that indicated, that Sal was the older one of them.

"Well met!" he said. "I am Salvazsahar ap Myrddin Emrys." It was traditional to name oneself the son of one's father – there was less interest in the magical name of a family then the name of the father. Sal found it odd but he had learned this strange custom as soon as he was back home in Britannia and had adopted it to not stand out too much.

"Well met!" the other one replied and bowed a little bit deeper. "I am Dewin ap Lleidr Ollivannder. You are this Myrddin Emry's son?" He asked, pointing at Myrddin.

"I am."

"And you have been traveling?"

"I travelled for years" Sal answered sincerely. He saw how the young man in front of him scrutinized him and tried to estimate Sal's age. Finally the young man seemed to come to a conclusion.

"So he let you go and I have to stay?! That does not sound fair to me!" Sal was sure the young man in front of him had underestimated Sal's age – of course, since Sal was looking like thirty-something of age, this was no surprise.

"You must have travelled alone way before my age today!" Dewin concluded. "And he let you go!"

Sal just snorted when he understood that the young man had decided to use Sal's "youth" to get Myrddin to agree to let him go.

"He let me go" Sal answered casually. "When I was more than a hundred of age – I am quite sure he will let you go earlier than that. You aren't his son after all."

Now Dewin gawked at him.

"May I ask…" he finally said, but trailed of before stating his question. Sal still knew what Dewin had wished to ask.

"… How old I am?" he finished the sentence. "I don't know. Something around three hundred years of age."

Dewin stared at him, then he blushed.

"Forgive me for judging you a lot younger" he said. Sal just shrugged. He knew that in this time the old were the wise and being old was a privilege and not a curse.

"Do not worry" he answered the younger man. "I do not hold it against you."

The young man nodded and Sal turned to his father.

"Why do you hold him here, atr?" he asked Myrddin. "He seemed to be a wise lad. Don't you think that he needs the experience of making staffs for his profession? Being here will not help him to get better in his work – there are far too less druids to aid him with that."

"He has completed his blood-awakening just yesterday" Myrddin answered. "He still is too young to travel alone."

"Then why did you not go with him?" Sal asked interested. Myrddin just sighted.

"I am an old man, Salvazsahar. I am weary of travel and I could not let the lad go by himself. He has no experience with travel. He will not survive out there for a mere day without one showing him how to."

Sal knew his father was right. Dewin Ollivannder had no experience with travel – someone who did not know what to look out for would definitely fail. There were too many dangerous places and creatures in the world to survive without the knowledge of them. And then all the other, little things like finding a place to sleep, conservation of food and a lot more – also more important things like medical care and being able to fight. Most children learned to fight – but just a few learned how to treat wounds.

"So he has to stay" Sal said, looking at his father.

"If I need someone with me – why don't you come with me?" Dewin said in that moment. "Uncle trusts you, you are his son after all and you are definitely old enough – when you would come I would be able to go without uncle arguing against it."

"I returned home today, Dewin" Sal reminded the lad. "I haven't even set a foot into my childhood home until now."

Dewin blinked and blushed.

"You haven't, forgive me" he said.

Myrddin just sighted. "I know you are eager to travel the world, Dewin. But you are too young to travel alone…"

"And there is no one that would travel with me" Dewin finished Myrddin's sentence sullenly. Myrddin just sighted.

"Forgive me, lad."

Sal just sighed.

"How about arguing about travelling or not travelling tomorrow? I am sure Dewin will survive in this town for another day" he finally said. Dewin just bowed to show that he was alright with Sal's suggestion.

This evening Sal and Myrddin were catching up. Sal learned that Dewin's father had died two years ago and that Myrddin had taken in the lad after that. He also learned that Dewin had the idea to sell his staffs not just near Loandom but everywhere in Britannia.

"You should not stifle his dreams, atr" Sal finally said. "When he wants to go – even if he is young – he should go."

"You know I cannot let him go alone – and he still should wait a bit. He has just finished his blood-awakening yesterday. His body needs time to adjust to the changes" Myrddin answered. "I cannot let him go now."

Sal just inclined his head to show he had listened to his father and bowed to his wisdom.

"But you also should let him go to live his dream" he said again to his father.

"You plan to go with him and keep him save" Myrddin said now smiling. Sal just inclined his head again.

"I will" he answered. "But I also want to stay here for some month before going. I will speak to Dewin tomorrow. I will ask him to wait some month. After that I will go with him and travel through Britannia."

"So you are not weary of travel, my son?" Myrddin asked softly. Sal just smiled.

"I will have to travel for many years until I find a way home. I am not allowed to be weary of travel."

And so he and Dewin started to travel through Britannia just half a year later. They travelled for over ten years, returning every few month home to Loandom. While they travelled, Dewin started to teach Sal how to make staffs. Sal had asked him if he would do so because Sal had started to be interested in them after he had gotten his oak-staff – another reason had been that Dewin soon needed help to make all the staffs he was asked to do. There were few staff makers in Britannia and a lot of druids were in dire need for a fitting staff. So Sal also learned to be a staff maker just to aid Dewin in his work.

After the years travelling they returned to Loandom and Dewin started his business. Sal aided him the next decades. He also aided Dewin's son and grandson but finally, 245 BC, he could not stay still anymore. So he went to his father and told him good-bye.

After that he travelled east until he reached the sea, crossed it and returned to Europe. It was time to start his search for a way home again…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	12. Chapter 11: 15 AD A Caste in The Woods

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 15 AD**

**A Castle in The Woods**

sss

Salvazsahar was back. After he had returned to Myrddin 370 BC he had lived in Loandom for some time. There he had met a descendant of his godfather Ollivanneder. This descendant had the idea to start a business in Loandom – and Ollivander's wands were born. Sal had helped to create wands and sell them for some time. But then he got weary again. He had wanted to do something else. So he had visited the elves and lived with them. Then he had lived with a Vampire coven. He finally had left Britain some two hundred years ago and had travelled through Europe. He had lived in Greek, with the Germanic tribes and in Rome. He even had returned to Egypt once or twice.

And now he had returned home again.

It was an old known path to him he was travelling now – a path that would him bring back in a few weeks to his childhood home. The first time he had travelled the path was more than five hundred years ago when he first arrived in this time.

Yesterday he had reached the place where Myrddin had found him and now he was following the invisible route they had been wandering. It felt good to return home… He knew his father was well. They were writing each other regularly. But his father had no idea that Salvazsahar was returning.

Sal hadn't told him. Instead he wanted to surprise him.

xXxXx

In that moment a rider suddenly broke through the woods. Salvazsahar stopped dead. The rider instead turned and looked at him, in his hands a shield and a sword.

"Who entered the realms of the king?" The rider asked.

_King?!_

_There was a king in Britain?!_

It was the first time, Sal had heard something about that.

"I am Salvazsahar Emrys, at your service" he finally answered. "I have been born in a place some fortnights south from here."

"Emrys?!" This time he heard surprise in the voice of the rider – maybe knight. "As in Myrddin Emrys?"

"My father" Sal answered sincerely. "I was going to visit him."

"Then your path has led you astray" The rider said. "Camelot is a little bit more West from here."

This time Sal stared at the man in front of him. _Camelot?! Like in King Arthur's Camelot?! And why, pray tell, should his father be in Camelot?!_

"I have been away for some time" Sal finally said carefully. "And I never have been in Camelot before. I would not know if my path leads me astray."

Now the knight – he had to be a knight when he was from Camelot – laughed.

"So your father's description was lacking?"

"He never gave me one" Sal answered. "I came by myself. I wanted to surprise him." He was still not sure that they were talking about the same Myrddin Emrys, but he decided to first understand the situation a bit better before mentioning something like that.

The knight shed his sword again and turned his horse so that it faced the direction he came from.

"Lancelot, at your service" he said. "I will bring you to your father."

"I don't want you to burden yourself with me" Sal said a little bit uncomfortable. "Just give me direction and I will find him myself."

"Oh, you are no trouble, lad" Lancelot said, smiling down at Sal. "I am glad to accompany you, my friend."

Salvazsahar stared at the knight in front of him.

_Lad?!_

The knight might be looking like he was at least thirty winters and Sal again had his fifteen year old body, which might look more like a thirteen or fourteen year old – but really… _Lad?!_

Sal finally decided to say nothing. Instead he followed the horse through the woods.

"So… how long it is that you last saw your father?" Lancelot asked while riding beside him.

"I don't know" Sal answered, shrugging. "Some years, maybe."

"Some years?"

Sal shrugged again.

"I did not count them" He said carefully. "Maybe a decade or longer. It was some time ago." Of course it was longer – but Sal knew he did not look old enough for that so he had to be careful what he was telling. He could be a little bit older then he looked – but there was a limit. After that it would sound unbelievable.

When the knight heard his words he raised an eyebrow.

"So you had no contact with him since he started to teach King Arthur fifteen years ago?" he clarified.

"He has been writing me" Sal answered, shrugging. "So we definitely had contact."

Lancelot stared at him.

"How old are you, lad?" He finally asked.

Sal blinked and stared back.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked.

"How many winters do you count?" The knight asked again. "Fifteen? Sixteen?"

Sal opened his mouth to tell him that he was older then he looked, but the knight continued oblivious to Sal's protest.

"You know, since I joint King Arthur, I sometimes talked to your father. He is always watching over Arthur, always at his side when Arthur needs an advice. And maybe the rest of the castle is blind to it – but I am not. I see him often looking at Arthur with a gaze that tells me that he doesn't want to talk to _Arthur _now. Sometimes he locks himself in his study, not leaving it for days, standing at the window and searching the sky."

And suddenly Sal felt guilty.

Did his father miss him?! Of course, Sal also missed his father, but he had been searching for a way back home to the future – a home that felt less home with every year that passed. Did his father dread that Sal would find a way back?

And did Sal even want to return?

He had learned to live here. He had a family. Maybe… maybe he should stay. Maybe he should stop his search until… _Until what? Forever?_

xXxXxXxXx

"Your father mentioned your name sometime" Lancelot said. "Every time he had to tell a story at the story-time we have every fortnight in the Great Hall. It is a gathering of Arthur's knights and his mentors. Arthur lets us tell our adventures and our pasts. Myrddin normally says nothing. But when Arthur wants him to tell a tale, he always tells about you. He calls you Sal – and some things he had told us sound unbelievable."

"Unbelievable?" suddenly Sal could picture that it was really his father that was living at King Arthur's court.

"Well, the last one was about killing a Basilisk with nothing than a sword when you were a mere child."

And suddenly Sal laughed. It really _was_ his father. He remembered Myrddin's pride and horror when he had stumbled over this memory while teaching Sal Occlumency. Sal had told him all after that and Myrddin was livid. He had right-out ordered to take him with him to the future so that he could scream at Sal's Headmaster for letting such a beast near mere children.

"He was stricken with horror when I told him" Sal said, still laughing. "He wanted to see my arm trice before he was sure that the Basilisk-venom had not killed me!"

Lancelot nearly fell from the horse-back.

"The story was true?" he asked half-horrified half-awed.

Sal shrugged and pushed back his sleeve to show the scar. "It bid me" He said casually. "It was a phoenix that healed me."

The knight looked at the scar and shuddered.

"I am surprised that your father did not insist that you would never leave his side again." He said, shuddering.

"How many winters did you count when this happened? Two? Three? As big as the scar is you must have been no more than a toddler!"

Sal wanted to protest again, tell him, that the Basilisk simply had been a very old and maybe senile one, but Lancelot talked again.

"Then the rest of the stories are also true? Fighting dragons? Flying a carriage? Visiting places you were forbidden to go? Fighting trolls?!"

"Uh… maybe" Sal answered nervously. "I… I was not very good at listening as a child. But atr wasn't there for the most of it so I was not reprimanded by him…"

"You mean your father was teaching Arthur for the most of the time" Lancelot said grimly. "And neither of us ever thought about letting Myrddin go so that he could get you. We even held him back every time he wanted to return home!"

Sal blinked, not knowing what to say. He had been all grown up and wandering when Myrddin had started to teach Arthur – so how come this knight thought that Sal was still a child?!

Salvazsahar decided that that was a question just his father would be able to answer.

"We were egoistic and cold-hearted bastards weren't we?" Lancelot said. "He told us about you but we never thought that maybe you really existed. We never thought he was talking about his own son!"

"Arthur is an _Olde _one" Sal said, remembering what his father had once told him in one of his letters about his new apprentice – not that Sal had known his father was talking about _King_ Arthur... "It is dangerous not to train an _Olde _one. Arthur needed him to learn about his heritage and father knows his responsibility. He would not leave him as long as Arthur needs him. This is the responsibility of a Firbolg-born – even if said Firbolg-born isn't the father of the boy."

"Even if he has left behind his own son?" Lancelot asked bitterly.

"I did not need him" Sal answered sincerely. "Arthur did."

Lancelot snorted.

"I don't believe that" he said stubbornly.

Silence filled the air for a few minutes, then the woods stayed back and suddenly they were standing in front of a castle.

"Welcome to Camelot" Lancelot said and Sal looked up.

His eyes grew big.

He knew this castle!

Memories washed over him, while he stared that the majestic silhouette, that ruled over the hills and forest like a beloved queen. Even if he would forget everything he ever knew, Sal knew he would remember this castle.

His home.

His first home ever.

It was… Hogwarts!

xXxXxXxXx

They strode to the entrance, Lancelot had left his horse at the stables – which stood where later Hagrid's hut would be standing.

With a nod to the guards Lancelot entered the old castle, guiding Sal through these ancient and well-known halls until they reached the Great Hall.

There one of the guards stopped them.

"The king is talking with Myrddin about the stronghold. They are planning defence-strategies. Arthur asked not to disturb him."

"He might have asked that" Lancelot said. "But some things are more important than defence-strategy – and I know a prisoner in this castle that would stop feeling like one if we're allowed to enter."

_Prisoner?_

But this time Sal could not protest. Maybe Lancelot was right and the duty of his father had held him prisoner.

Lancelot simply by-passed the surprised guards and grabbed Sal's arm to bring him with him.

The knight opened the door and it banged on the walls.

In the middle of the Great Hall stood a round oak-table. The ceiling wasn't enchanted and on the pedestal was just one throne instead of the teacher's table – but it clearly _was _the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

And at the table stood a man, maybe as old as Lancelot and another one who looked very old. He had white hair but the eyes… the eyes…

"Lancelot!" the younger man said with annoyance in his voice. "I told the guards I do not want to be disturbed!"

Sal could see the other man's eyes travel over his face, his clothes and his own eyes…

"Atr" he said.

And suddenly the man came running. He had rounded the table before a startled Arthur could even utter another word. And a second later Sal found himself in the embrace of his father.

"Salvazsahar!" He heard his name while his father's hands seemed to search his body for injuries. "Thank to whoever it belongs! You're alright! You're alright!"

Sal blinked. At the moment he was smaller than his father so he had to look up to the old man's face. And there he saw the fear. The fear that something could have happened to him between one letter and the next. The fear that he would see him never again.

Guilt crept through Sal's stomach.

"I am sorry, atr" He murmured in his father's tunic. "I am so sorry!"

His father's embrace tightened.

"You are back – and that's all I ever wanted" Myrddin answered, still caressing him.

In that moment Arthur butted in.

"So you know the lad, Myrddin?" he asked, but before even Myrddin or Sal could think about answering Lancelot did.

"The lad is Myrddin's son" Lancelot answered and his voice sounded chilly. "The son who has not seen his own father for fifteen years – just because _you_ did not let Myrddin leave for even half a year! Have you ever spent a thought that Myrddin maybe did not want to leave to have some free time but to see his own family again?!"

Arthur opened and then closed his mouth again. He looked at Sal who was still in the tight embrace of his father.

"Your son, Myrddin?" He asked.

Myrddin loosened his embrace, but one of his hands remained on Sal's shoulder.

"Yes" he said calmly. "This is Salvazsahar Serendu Harryjames Emrys, my child. Sal, this is King Arthur Pendragon, my student."

Sal bowed.

"Your majesty" he said, unsure how he should react to this situation.

The king laughed.

"As the child of my mentor, you may call me Arthur" he said but his eyes were sever. "I did keep you apart, didn't I?" he asked.

"It was not your fault" Sal said but Arthur's eyes had turned to Myrddin.

"I would have sent someone to bring him here" he said. "If you would have told me, I would have brought him. He must have been a mere babe when you left him to train me."

Sal huffed. Did he really look so young?! But he said nothing because of the squeeze his father gave his shoulder.

"He was young" Myrddin confirmed. "But you had to learn – and there was no-one but I. My child had his godfather to learn from."

Sal looked at his father surprised. So Myrddin had created a farce… whatever why…

"His godfather?" Arthur asked sounding suddenly guilty. "What is with his mother?"

"She died shortly after my first winter" Sal answered.

"She was ill?" Lancelot asked softly.

"She was killed" Sal corrected. "She died to protect me."

When he said that his father's eyes became grim.

"She did – and one day this mad man will pay for that." He said.

"Just tell me where he is and who and I will send my men" Arthur said, looking from father to son. But both of them just shook their heads.

"You can't" Myrddin answered. "Just like I could not send your men for my son."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Myrddin just kept going.

"I told you I visited the world when I was young" he said to Arthur. The king nodded.

"My son's mother was part of this world." Myrddin said. "I returned home to Britain, but the last time my son had been in Britain he just had been born. He did not grow up here and I could not send your men to a foreign country to bring him here, as much as I would have liked that."

Sal could just admire his father. Myrddin had not straight out lied to Arthur – well, except of some minor corrections to smother the story – but he had put the truth together so that it sounded different than it really had happened. Sal's mother had been from the future and as such never had entered the Britannia Myrddin knew. Sal had been reborn in Britannia and left to search for a way to return to the future – and he did not grow up in this Britannia also. And of course there had been no way to send men after a grown up adult, travelling the world. So all Myrddin had said had been true somehow – and still all had happened different then Arthur would understand it…

"I will have to let him teach me that" Sal mused. "It will take time – but I'm sure it's worth it."

Arthur just sighted when he heard Myrddin's words.

"I understand. But please remember that I would aid you whenever you need it. Just tell me and I will send my men. This is all I can do to repay your kindness."

Myrddin just inclined his head.

"As you wish, Arthur" he said.

But then he stayed silence. Arthur waited a few minutes, and then he sighted again.

"You will not ask for my help, will you?"

"No" Myrddin said. "I told you before that there is nothing you can do."

"And there is also nothing else…"

This time Myrddin stopped and looked thoughtfully at his son. Sal said nothing. He knew his father was thinking about something that would change Sal's life – but Sal had accepted long ago that in that time he was living now the father had the right to decide for his son, even if said son was normally all grown up... Sal did not like it but he knew that he had to accept it.

Myrddin had the right to choose what Sal would do. He normally did not use his right and that he was thinking about it meant that it was something his father thought was necessary to learn…

"If you want to help me" Myrddin finally said. "Would you teach my son? You have skills I do not have as you have been taught it by your uncle and father until you lost them when you turned fifteen. You can repay me with teaching some of it to my son."

This time it was Arthur who scrutinized Sal.

"It would be an honour" he answered finally.

"And I will do the same!" Lancelot declared. "For a long time I wanted to teach a youngster how to fight – this is the ideal opportunity!"

Sal was not sure if he really could say the same.

"Well… we will stop working for today" Arthur said looking at Lancelot. "Lancelot and I will work out a training plan for your son and will present it to you tomorrow. For now enjoy the time with your son, Myrddin."

"I will" Myrddin answered and led Sal from the room. They stayed silence until they reached Myrddin's quarters. There, after he had shut the door and silenced it, Sal started to speak.

"Please explain, atr" he said. There was no need to add what he wanted to know. Myrddin knew that Sal was talking about the misdirection he was using on Arthur.

"We are both too old to explain it without telling everyone that we are more creature then human" Myrddin said. "Even if they know about Firbolg-born no-one ever understood the difference between us and them – and I do not like to explain it."

"But… isn't Arthur himself an _Olde _one? Will he not live longer than the others?" Sal asked surprised.

"He is and he will" Myrddin said. "But he still will just live on for another century or two. His family still might have the soul of the Firbolg-born but he is not a descendant of a Phoenix."

"So it's the Phoenix-blood" Sal said.

"Yes" Myrddin answered. "A Phoenix is a creature which is born again and born again. It decides when it dies to be born again and it decides when it is old. Its blood in our veins does give us longer lives than even the other Firbolg-born have."

"And you decided to tell him nothing about that…"

"Yes" Myrddin said. "And also nothing about our ability to age. This is Family Magick – so no-one does have to know except of family, do you understand?"

"Yes" Sal nodded.

"It is the same with the Family Magick of Arthur or the others" Myrddin said. "We are unable to use them and we should not know them at all."

Sal just nodded.

"So I have to be fifteen because I came looking like it" he concluded.

"Yes" Myrddin said smiling. "But I am glad you did. Arthur and Lancelot are some of the best fighters I know – it will be good if you learn from them as much as you can."

"And because of that you decided to take Arthur's offer…"

"Yes" Myrddin said smiling. Then he turned serious again.

"I also discovered that someone of your family started to live near Britain."

Sal stared at him confused.

"Someone of my family?"

"Your green eyes – I once told you it's a family trait, didn't I?" This time Sal just nodded.

"Well, the LeFay-family has started to live in Avalon" Myrddin said. "I know you know nothing about the rest of your Family Magick. You might want to seek an apprenticeship with them."

"But…"

"One day you need to know what you are able to do" Myrddin said. "Learning Family Magick is an important part of your abilities – if you ever discover the rest of your ancestry I want you to go to the family to learn from them, do you understand?"

"Yes" Sal said hesitating. "Do I have to go soon?"

"No" Myrddin answered. "But I want you to go to Morgana LeFay one day. I heard she is a healer – and as a healer she cannot hurt anyone. There is an oath to prevent it. She would be a perfect candidate to learn from."

Sal just nodded while his mind was reeling. He was a descendant of Morgana LeFay?! The witch whose son had killed… would kill… Arthur?!

Sal did not know much about history but that was something he had learned in the Muggle-world a long time ago in his own time. He wasn't sure if Binns ever talked about it in magical history but he knew enough from human history to shudder at the thought to belong to Morgana's family…

Not that he could prevent to belong to it…

"I will go to her one time" he promised. "But I will first stay with you."

Myrddin smiled at him.

"And I am happy about it" he said while he ruffled Sal's hair. "And now tell me about your adventures."

And so they spent the afternoon and the evening with stories about Sal's travel through the world. They finally climbed to bed late at night exhausted from telling and listening.

The next day Arthur indeed had worked out a lesson plan and Sal's lessons with Arthur, Lancelot and Gawain – another knight of Arthur – started. Arthur had been the one to decide what Sal had to be taught and Myrddin had just nodded when Arthur talked about the lessons he had chosen.

Sal himself was not entirely happy with his lesson plan but a glance of his father prevented him from protesting about it.

So it came that he had lessons about history, fighting, politics, etiquette, battle magic and battle strategy.

Arthur was teaching him battle magic and politics, Lancelot fighting and battle strategy and Gawain etiquette and history. Because of Sal's unusual good memory they could teach him very fast. Especially Arthur used this ability of Sal to his advantage and soon Sal had to dodge fire-balls Arthur was hurling at him with pleasure.

Sal himself had never seen magic like these fire balls. Arthur produced them with his bare hands and seemed to use them with ease. Sal just thought that they were utterly awesome. Because of that he started to try to produce them himself when he was alone.

At first he was unable to do it but some weeks later he finally could produce a simple little flame in his bare hands.

"Now I just have to try to make them grow" Sal said to himself grinning, looking at the easily produced flame in his hands.

"What are you doing, child?" a voice asked him from behind. Sal turned and stared at Arthur.

"I… I…" he stuttered, feeling like a little child in front of his elder. "I…"

Arthur instead looked at the flame in Sal's hands with an astonished gaze.

When Sal saw where Arthur was looking he extinguished the flame in his hands.

"Forgive me, Arthur" he said with guilt in his voice. "I should not have…"

"Can you do it again, child?" Arthur asked instead. His voice sounding strange.

Sal hesitated a moment, then he produced his flame again.

Arthur extracted his hands at the flame until he could feel it. His eyes widened and he looked at Sal with an astonished gaze.

"Can you tell me how you did it?" he asked Sal.

Sal just shrugged.

"I wanted to" he said. "I… I tried to do it since I saw you using the fire balls the first time… I… forgive me if I did something I shouldn't have done…!"

"No… no it's all right, child" Arthur said softly and ruffled Sal's hair. Sal wasn't sure how to interpret this gesture. Normally an adult not related to a child did not touch it. It was seen as improper to do so – and Arthur had never broken this unwritten rules until now…

"Tell me child: what do you know about your mother?" he asked Sal.

Sal hesitated, then answered truthfully.

"I know that she was young when she died and that my parents weren't married long. I know I have her eyes and I know that she was brilliant. I don't think that atr knew her a long time" he said, mixing the truth with a little lie to make it believable.

"So you don't know the family she was born into?" Arthur asked.

Sal just shrugged.

"Not really" he answered not fully lying.

"I see" Arthur said, ruffling Sal's hair again. "And don't worry child. I am not angry with you. Come with me. I will show you some other things."

Sal hesitated a moment but then did as he was told.

Four hours later he returned to the rooms he shared with his father, utterly exhausted. Arthur really had shown him other things. He had shown Sal how to control fire without trying to produce it and the same he had also shown him for plants. Sal had tried both until he was able to help a flower to bloom and a fire to burn without wood.

It was an exhausting way to use magic and Sal just fell to bed to sleep. He slept through the night and was woken in the morning by his father who told him they were called to Arthur.

So Sal stood up and followed his father to the Great Hall.

"Myrddin, Sal" Arthur greeted. "I have called you to ask you for a favour."

"My Lord?" Myrddin asked. Sal was equally surprised but as a 'minor' he was not allowed to speak until been spoken to. He had long ago learned to follow rules like that – even if he not really was a minor anymore.

"Myrddin, I wish to adopt your son" Arthur said. Sal blinked. _Adopt him?! Sal had a father so why…?_

"I need an heir and I am unsure how long it will take until I get one myself. I ask for your permission to take on your son as my heir until then." Arthur said.

"I am honoured, my Lord" Myrddin answered. "Unfortunately Sal is too old to take in a part of your soul – he cannot be your true heir. Maybe an adopted substitute who has access to a little bit of your family magic but never like an adopted heir of a normal druid. Don't forget, we are Firbolg-born. Our souls don't have the softness and flexibility of human souls. If you were a normal druid you could give him full access to your family magic – as an _Olde _one it cannot be."

"I know" Arthur said calmly. "You taught me well, Myrddin. And because of that I decided to ask for your son. _He_ can use my Family Magick. I saw it myself. Somewhere in your wife's line there has once been someone of my family. My blood is already flowing through his veins. I just need to adopt him in the main line."

Sal blinked in surprise. _He was a descendant of Arthur?! But how did Arthur know?!_

And then Sal remembered Arthur's gaze when he saw Sal's fire – when he _touched_ Sal's fire…

_Family Magick?!_

Had Arthur tested him yesterday to confirm what he had seen the first time he had seen Sal producing the fire?! Had Arthur given him the tasks to make sure Sal was really using Arthur's Family Magick?! Sal suddenly felt like a child who touched something he never should have been near at all…

Myrddin looked a little bit astonished himself and he turned to Sal to scrutinize his son.

"Are you sure about that, Arthur?" he asked. Arthur nodded.

"I am." He answered. "Will you give me permission?"

"Do you know how far from the main line he is?" Myrddin asked.

Arthur just shrugged.

"We will see" he answered. "The nearer he is the stronger he will be after the adoption."

Again Myrddin scrutinized Sal. Sal knew he would have no say in this decision. Myrddin was his father – he was the one who would decide on Sal's fate. Sal knew he would have hated it back, when he was in his own time – but he had long ago learned to adapt, especially because he knew his father would decide against it if he believed Sal would be unhappy in the arrangement.

"I will not give up my rights for my son" Myrddin said in that moment.

"I do not want you to, Myrddin" Arthur said. "I simply want to add a parent."

Myrddin was silent for another minute, then he slowly nodded.

"If you wish" he said. "I will give you my son as your heir. You will have the right to teach him and the right to decide what is best for him – but I have the same rights. I will not give them up."

Arthur hesitated a moment, then he inclined his head.

"So mot it be" he said.

"So mot it be" Myrddin answered.

Sal blinked. He had thought that his father would not allow Arthur to adopt him. But he said nothing until he reached the rooms he was living with his father.

"You will let him adopt me?" he asked.

Myrddin sighted.

"I know you don't like the idea, Salvazsahar" he said. "You are older then he and you feel like an adult. But please understand my decision. Arthur said that you _can_ do parts of his family magic – so someone of your family must have been a descendant of him. I cannot teach you the magic you need to know for this part of your heritage – and if Arthur wants to adopt you and teach you I will not deny it to you. You have a right to know your Family Magick."

Sal sighted.

"So I will have to play a child again" he said. Myrddin just smiled.

"I am sure you will have to do something like that more often in the future. As long as you don't find a way home you will have to fit in. Sometimes it will be easier to fit in as a child" his father answered. "So don't fret, Sal. You have been playing a child since you arrived. You just continue like that."

"Yes. And I will be taught by someone again" Sal said sneering.

"You have been taught since you have arrived."

"Yes" Sal said. "But at that time I wasn't the son of one of my teachers…"

"Deal with it" was his father's cold-hearted advice.

And that Sal had to.

A day later he was given a potion with the added blood of Arthur in it – the adoption potion. He drank it without protest.

He did not change much after that. Just his eyes started to be even greener then they were before. They suddenly seem to carry an inner light that they had lacked before.

But there also was a different. Not soon after the adoption Sal discovered that his ability to do Arthur's Family Magick had risen skywards.

"You must have been quite near to the main line" Arthur said when he discovered that Sal suddenly could nearly feel the fire he could control. "The entering in the main line has given you a power bust like it is seen seldom. You must understand that you now have the ability of your previous status in the family and the ability of your new one. They mixed and created… well… your power."

"I see." Sal answered. That night he asked his father if it was possible that he had belonged to the main line all along.

"Yes" his father answered. "I even guessed that you did belong to it before. The power behind your Family Magick indicates that you had enough ability to be the Lord all along. You might even have been the Lord in your time."

And he hadn't known it – but that was left unsaid. It unsettled Sal that everyone in his time had kept something important like that from him.

"If I ever return I will find out why I do know nothing about my family at all" Sal vowed to himself. After that they never spoke about his position in the future again.

Sal was taught by Arthur and the other knights. His lessons had increased after he was adopted to the main-family.

But the most important part Myrddin told him some weeks later.

"When I and Arthur die" Myrddin said. "You will have to hold the wards of Camelot. The castle was built by me and Arthur so it's our magic that is holding the wards. As our heir it will be yours when we are gone. After we die you will be the one who is the lord of the land. You have to look after the people that live here."

"But what's with the child Arthur will have?" Sal asked.

"As long as he does not acknowledge it, it will not have control of anything" Myrddin answered. "You are his heir until he decides otherwise. Prepare for it."

And that was the final word spoken in that matter. Sal learned all he could and finally he said good-bye to his fathers and started to travel again. Arthur let him go as Sal told him that he wanted to learn more and Myrddin knew where Sal would go. It was time to learn more about family.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	13. Chapter 12: 25 AD Learning From Family

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 25 AD**

**Learning From Family**

sss

Sal was nervous.

He had entered the island where he heard Morgana lived the day before and stood now in front of her home.

Avalon.

Sal had come to Avalon.

He had heard rumours about Morgana LeFay and her ability to heal. Of course he had also heard that she adored the Dark Arts – nothing Sal wanted to learn.

But he had to. He had to know and he wanted to learn healing – and Family Magick. He had decided this since his father had told him about his heritage. Since his father had told him, his eyes told the world that he was born a LeFay. And since he had learned how he could be the descendant of Arthur and Morgana. It had been three and a half years ago when Morgana had come and cornered Arthur. Sal had not been there at that time and had later heard about the argument – the argument about Morgana's son whom she had born after a night she had shared with Arthur.

Arthur had not been pleased that the child had been born and had not wanted the child as his heir. Simple said he had denied the birth right to his child and Myrddin had guided Morgana out of the castle. Sal did not know how it happened but the result of this meeting was a shared enmity between Sal's fathers and Morgana.

So Sal might be a descendant of Morgana, but he also was Myrddin's son – and Morgana hated Myrddin…

And because of that Sal was standing in front of the door, unsure how to proceed…

xXxXxXxXx

"Do you want to stand there forever, lad?" a sarcastic voice asked and suddenly the door opened and Salvazsahar was looking at a middle-aged woman who carried a maybe four year old child on her hip.

"Uh…" Sal said, stuttering "I… I was looking for Morgana LeFay. I was told she lives here." He finally said, looking at the woman.

She had pitch-black hair and deadly glowing green eyes. Sal knew these eyes. They were the same he had inherit from his own mother.

The boy on Morgana's hip did not have these eyes. He had brown ones – eyes that reminded Sal of Arthur…

"So this child is Mordred" Sal thought, then he corrected himself. "Medrawd. His name was changed over time. It's Medrawd."

"And who is looking for me?" Morgana asked him, staring at him coolly but intensively.

"My name is Salvazsahar Emrys" Sal had thought about calling himself 'LeFay' but he did not want to trick her with that. He might be a LeFay by blood, but he never carried the name before.

"Emrys?" she asked, still staring. "As in _Myrddin_ Emrys?"

"Uh… I guess" Sal answered nervously.

"What do you want, breed of Myrddin?"

"I… I…" Sal gulped and found his courage. "I am here to ask for an apprenticeship." He said, squaring his shoulders.

Morgana raised her eyebrows.

"The breed of Myrddin asks me, great Morgana LeFay for an apprenticeship?" she said, suddenly sounding dangerous.

Sal's gaze grew cold when he met her eyes head on. He stared back, daring her to say anything more than she had before – and Morgana blinked.

"You're no Emrys" she finally said. "You're of _my _blood. _You_ are my heir." Her gaze turned to her own child. "But how come you are? I am the one who continues the main line – so how come you exist when I have a child?!"

Sal gulped again. He knew he had to explain it to her – and best without lying too much.

"I… I am not from this time" he finally confessed and Morgana's eyes returned to him. Again her eyebrows rose. "I… well… I am your many times grand-child, you could say" Sal finally settled with. "I came here to learn from you."

The truth – but not true enough to conclude the right things.

"When you are my many times grand-child – how come you carry Myrddin's name?" she asked now definitely interested. "Shouldn't you carry my name – or Arthur's?"

"I… My mother was the heir" Sal answered nervously. "I carry my father's name as I have no right to carry my mother's."

"You have our magic" Morgana say, narrowing her eyes. "You know our Family Magick and as such you have the right to carry our name. You needn't befoul yourself with Myrddin's name."

Sal wisely said nothing. He had foreboded that Morgana would not be pleased with his last name.

"Well, that is my problem" Sal said. "I _do not_ know Family Magick."

Morgana stared at him when he told her.

"Your mother didn't teach you?" she asked appalled and disgusted.

"She could not teach me" Sal corrected. "She died when I was a mere babe."

"Then surely your grand-mother…"

"There was a war" Sal said with a bitter note in his voice. "I am the last with magic of my line. I was since I counted one winter. I still have an aunt – but she did not inherit any magic. She cannot tell me what I need to know."

"No, she wouldn't" Morgana said. "So that's why you're here."

"Yes" Sal answered. "I needed a competent teacher to learn from, so I came here."

There was a moment of silence while Morgana was piercing through him with her eyes. It felt like a test and Sal grew nervous the longer she stared.

"And learn you will, Salvazsahar." Morgana said finally and smiled. "Come in. I will teach you. I don't want to end my family name with the Emrys line – even if I do not object your mother's choice in marriage. The Emrys line is a strong one – inserting its blood in our line is definitely a good choice."

Sal wisely forgot to mention that his Emrys-father never had married his mother. He did not want to tell Morgana that he truly was Myrddin's son. He was sure she would not like that very much…

So he just entered, fully aware, that he would have to learn all she wanted him to in the next few years – and there was no telling when she would end her training.

xXxXxXxXx

The hut was small and neatly kept. Morgana pointed at a simple wooden chair in front of the fire.

"Sit" she said while she herself sat down in a more comfortable one.

"Do you know how to read?" she asked.

"I do" Sal answered.

"So your aunt did teach you some things." Morgana said. "What about the family books – did you read them?"

"No" Sal answered. "My parents' home was destroyed. I have nothing left but an old cloak of my father's."

Morgana sighted. Sal could feel her using Legilimency on him. He let her through – not to his memories but to his feelings so that she could analyse if he was telling the truth.

"But you know basic Occlumency" she said. "Even if it is a barbaric form of it."

"My father taught me" Sal answered truthfully.

"Well, I will teach you better" Morgana said. "Forget what you father told you – I will teach you real Occlumency."

"Yes, My Lady" Sal said.

"Call me mother" Morgana said. "You may be my many times grand-son, but you are young enough to call me mother. Say, how many winters do you count?"

"Fifteen" Sal answered, using his body's winters and not his mind's. He was not sure if he liked Morgana's suggestion to call her 'mother' but he knew, he would do it anyway. She was his ancestor and because of that his elder. When she wanted to be called 'mother' then he would do it without questioning.

"So your magic has matured one time until now?" Morgana asked and Sal shrugged.

"I don't know" he said truthfully.

When he said that Morgana took out her staff and pointed it at him. Sal stiffed, but did not flinch or take out his own staff.

Morgana smiled at that. She definitely had seen his slightly concealed reaching for his staff, before he could stop himself to do so.

"You have good reflexes" she said. "Your father taught you the way of the warrior, I believe?"

"He taught me the way of the druids, mother" Sal answered. "I am no warrior, but I have to know how to fight as a druid."

"Yes you do" Morgana said and then whispered a spell.

Soft yellow light hit Sal's body. Then he started to glow green.

"Oh, that's good" Morgana said. "You did just mature one time. I will be able to teach you from the scratch – and we have time. Your second time will be not before the third winter."

"You can tell that?" Sal asked surprised. Even his father had not been able to tell that when Sal had started to mature for the first time.

"Yes" Morgana said. "And you will also be able when I have taught you all I know. There are just two conditions."

"I hear."

"You will let me adopt you" Morgana said. "As my child I will have the full rights to teach you all I want without you protesting it." Sal had thought about this possibility. Morgana knew that Medrawd would not be able to use Family Magick and she wanted to make sure that someone would be able to use it fully – even if this someone was an heir from a distant future. When he truly was her son – even an adopted one – and not just a descendant she had a better grasp at his magic. A parent simply understood their child's magic better than anyone.

"I will" he answered. He had hoped to prevent it but it was not unexpected. "Well, it will change nothing in my blood" he thought. He simply would have more access to the Family Magick… and that definitely wasn't bad at all.

"The other condition is that you will teach Medrawd how to fight when he is old enough" Morgana said.

Sal nodded, knowing that he there also had no choice – even if this might later be the cause of Arthur's demise. But even if it was – refusing would not change history. Arthur would die and when history would like Medrawd to be the cause of his demise, so it would be like that. Sal would not be able to change that when he refused.

"I will – but I am not more than mediocre in using a sword."

"As long as you teach him." Morgana said. "The rest he will learn by himself."

xXxXxXxXx

The time at Morgana's flew by quickly.

Sal soon got used to call Morgana 'mother' and under her tutelage he started to learn how to use his Family Magick. He also started to learn how to heal and also the Dark Arts.

At the beginning Sal was a little bit hesitant to learn the Dark Arts but soon he discovered, that many rituals and spells in the Dark Arts could be used differently and would help him while healing others.

Sal also discovered that he loved to heal. Before the apprenticeship Sal had just thought that knowing how to heal would be useful but the longer he learned the more he discovered that healing was something he would like to do for a living.

Morgana also noticed that he loved to heal and so she more and more included him in her own work as a healer.

It was ten years later, the day Medrawd first bested Sal in their mock-battle after just a few minutes, when Morgana finally called for Sal.

"Yes, mother?" he asked, entering the house.

"Salvazsahar LeFay" she stated. "Today is the day when your apprenticeship ends. You now know all I know and there is nothing left to teach for me."

Sal inclined his head.

"Now there is just one thing left" Morgana continued. "The Oath."

Sal knew what she meant. Every healer had to vow on their magic to help everyone in need. The healer's oath would also constrict him in his magic. No healer was allowed to kill or maim others or even simply neglect to help them when they needed help.

The vow was binding and would take his life when he neglected it.

"I am not sure I want to take it" Sal answered sincerely.

Morgana raised an eyebrow.

"I taught you healing for ten years – and now you don't want to finalize the last step in your profession?" she asked surprised.

"A healer cannot fight" Sal answered sincerely.

"And you want to fight?"

"No" Sal shook his head. "I want to protect."

He expected that Morgana would be angry with him for refusing to vow his life to the profession of the healer. What he did not expect was the gleam that entered her eyes when hearing his answer.

"So you want to protect" she stated. "Will you try to protect everyone – with no exception be it race, blood or something else?"

Sal frowned.

"Of course" he answered. "Why shouldn't I protect someone when I'm able to and he does need help?"

Now Morgana looked like a Cheshire cat.

"So you will protect those who cannot protect themselves from those who try to maim them?"

"I will" Sal answered, still frowning and now utterly confused.

"And you will use all your skills to aid whoever needs help?"

"Of course I will…"

"Even if you will have to aid your enemy?"

"Yes…"

"Even if you will have to kill someone or let someone die to ensure the safety of others?"

Sal blinked at that. _Let someone die?!_

"Yes…" he said unsure.

"Even if it will bring you harm?"

"Yes." This time he was sure.

"Then I bless you child. You are a Healer, you are a Warrior, _you_ are a guardian. You have finished your apprenticeship and you have chosen your path. May you heal others, may you judge their hearts. May you guide others, may you protect them from harm. Today, I name you a Guardian Healer – born to protect, born to judge, born to heal. So be it."

A golden mist suddenly surrounded Salvazsahar and a rune-circle was seen above his head. Sal had never seen this circle before. It was the typical healer rune-circle in the middle, but it was surrounded by a different, foreign one.

Before Sal could decipher it, it glowed as bright as the sun, broke apart into sparks and entered his body.

Warmth filled his entire being and then it stopped and all was back to normal.

"What…?" he started to ask, but Morgana beat him to it.

"A healer's oath" she answered. "But not the normal one. This one will let you protect and kill – there will be no consequences. You even can let someone die if this person has harmed others with his action or will harm others when he continues his actions."

"So… there is nothing different then before?" Sal asked confused.

"Oh, there is" Morgana answered. "Others have to come first now. You cannot do anything when you encounter a conflict. You have to aid those who need protection. You cannot aid the others, and you cannot aid evil. When you do, you will lose your magic and maybe even your life."

"So you tricked me in an oath" Sal said.

"I know you, Salvazsahar." Morgana said shrugging. "You would have done it anyway. You are born to protect – that you have my eyes while having also Arthur Pendragon's blood shows it. You will not feel bound at all, because of the oath."

Sal sighted, but he could not object. Even without the oath he would have helped those who needed help and were too weak to aid themselves.

"But why did you trick me into it?"

"It is an oath you have to give while not being aware of it" Morgana said. "And even if you give it, there are few in this world whose oath would have been accepted by magic. A Guardian Healer is special. There are maybe two or three in this world. I guessed that you would be one five years ago, and I am proud that I was right. Having someone like you in our family definitely shows our superior power."

Sal could just roll his eyes at that.

Trust Morgana to be excited to have a rare… creature?!... like Sal in the family. There would be no other person in the world who would be concerned about family prestige some thousand years in the future…

"I am proud of you, Salvazsahar" Morgana said. "I trust, you will return home now?"

Sal stared at her for a moment, then he nodded.

"I will" he answered.

And he truly would have, if he wouldn't have stumbled over a battle while he was on the way back to Camelot. As it was, Sal would return home eight years later than planned…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	14. Chapter 13: Trial Time

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Trial Time**

sss

The rest of the time until his trial Harry had cleansed rooms with all the others and after Kreature had told him two days later at night that he had cleaned a little, unused room and Harry had started to draw the necessary runes, circles and pentagrams on the floor and on the walls, that he needed for his first task.

When the twelfth of August approached, he finally had finalized the drawing and despite being a little sleepy he was fully prepared for the Ministry hearing. Of course, no-one else knew.

They all relayed on Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore was there last night, he will come" Molly Weasley had told him and Harry had well-behaved nodded and not shown his feelings about Dumbledore, the almighty.

Instead he had followed Arthur to the Ministry, and was finally informed about the changed time – a fact that let him grin inside.

The Ministry really tried to help him with all its abilities…

Finally he was brought to the courtroom – Harry grinned much more inside when he heard he would have a full trial – and left there.

So he stood there, in front of them, looking around in Myrddin's court.

_The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell._

_A cold male voice rang across the courtroom._

"_You're late."_

Harry turned and looked at the speaker.

"I did not get a notice that the time was changed" Harry answered, crooking his head. "I also got no notice that the place was changed."

The wizards and witches of the Wizengamot looked at each other and murmured.

"We have been sending you an owl with the new time and place today" Fudge said coolly.

"You might" Harry answered. "The point is I did not get it – so how am I supposed to be on time without knowing it was changed?"

"We should not discuss that now" a witch beside Fudge said sweetly and Harry had the unproved feeling that she had something to do with his missing message. He said nothing and filled it away for later. This just would make it easier for him…

"_Very well" said Fudge. "The accused being present – finally – let us begin. Are you ready?" he called down the row._

"_Yes, sir" _Percy. Harry had thought as much. He did not even bother to look at the treacherous Weasley- brother.

"_Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August" said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, "into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Stature of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey._

"_Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley – "_

"_Witness for the defe –"_

"You don't have to, Headmaster", Harry interrupted the entering old man midsentence. "I am fully capable of defending myself."

Dumbledore stopped mid-step and starred at the boy in front of him.

"Harry, my boy, this is the Wizengamot…" he began, but Harry interrupted him again.

"That's alright, Headmaster. I am fully aware where I am. I can handle myself" with that he turned to the minister and said in a non-saying voice. "Please continue, Minister Fudge."

_The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore_ and Harry. _Some of them looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; _but the most of them looked utterly flabbergasted. Harry guessed that the most of them had thought he would hide behind Dumbledore's robes. But Harry was not a child anymore. So, while the originally Harry maybe would have let Dumbledore manage his affairs, the current Harry was not willing to give the headmaster any power in his life.

"Minister Fudge? Minister Fudge, would you please continue, sir?"

Silence for another minute.

"Yes." Fudge finally said, still starring at Harry and Dumbledore who looked slightly undecided at his young charge. Finally he just flicked his wand and sat down on the squishy armchair that appeared out of nowhere.

Harry ignored him.

"_Yes" said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes."_

_He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, "The charges against the accused are as follows:_

"_That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy._

"_You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment._

"Today I am", Harry answered pleasantly, knowing that the Chamber would show-cast it if he lied.

"Today?" Fudge asked, slightly annoyed with Harry's answer.

"I might change my name tomorrow" The boy replied, shrugging. "Or I might find out my parents gave me another name altogether."

At this, Fudge starred unbelievingly at Harry, then he shook his head and continued.

"_You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"_

"I might" The boy replied.

"This is a yes or no question! Answer clearly." Fudge scowled.

"Then: for you, _yes. _It might have been three years."

"_And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" said Fudge._

"_Yes." _The boy answered clearly, one eyebrow slightly up his forehead.

"_Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic out of school while you are under the age of seventeen?"_

"_Yes…"_

"_Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?"_

"Of course I knew…"

"_Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?"_

"My cousin, Sir…"

This time the witch with the monocle spoke up.

"_You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?"_

Harry sighted. He had known, this question would come up. He himself might not truly be fifteen but the original Harry had been, so it was natural for these wizard and witches to question his ability to produce a Patronus.

"Yes, it is corporal." He answered coolly, "It is corporal since third year."

"_Impressive" said Madam Bones, staring down at him, "a true Patronus at his age… very impressive indeed."_

Harry decided to stay silence. It would do no good when he told them, that a Patronus was nothing. He could kill them all without even leaving a trace and without them knowing what was coming – even if they would look the whole time it took him to kill them directly in his eyes. Impressive – indeed.

"_It's not a question of how impressive the magic was" said Fudge in a testy voice, "in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain few of a Muggle! _Think about it! We can't let such behaviour unpunished. He broke the law – without even regretting it! When we let him roam, we can't know what he will do next!"

_Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, _but the boy in front of them seemed to be fully untouched by the accusation.

This time Dumbledore instead seemed to be unable to hold back. He stood, ready to defend Harry, if the boy wanted it or not.

But just when he sprang to his feet, the young boy in front of the Wizengamot spoke in a low, cold voice.

"Now, minister, tell me, what you are playing at?" The boy said and Headmaster Dumbledore, ready to defend the young boy, stopped in the middle of opening his mouth.

"What are you implying, boy?!" Fudge hissed, but his voice showed, that he was slightly taken aback by the emotionless voice of the teen. Cold, Avada Kedavra-green eyes pierced him, judged him and found him unworthy.

"I am implying several serious disregards of your own laws" The boy said emotionless and a whisper emerged in the crowd. Fudge turned his head from left to right, trying to stand still and being impressive. He failed.

Words run through the crowd. "Broken law? We?" He heard. "When?"

xXxXx

"Disregarding of the laws, Mr Potter?" A regal looking Lady finally asked aloud. "Pray tell what are you talking about?"

"About several things, Madam, several broken laws specifically" The boy replied, and when one of the Wizengamot wizards opened his mouth, he overrode his attempt to speak mercilessly.

"Let's start with an easy example: When I used the Patronus Charm to defend my cousin, I got a letter that I was expelled from Hogwarts. That was the first breaking of your laws. No-one except of the headmaster can expel a student from Hogwarts. Trying to do it without consulting the headmaster at first, ends in losing all the reminding control you have in school. Hogwarts has the right to take back the offending persons OWLS and NEWTS when said person just attempted such a crime."

"Is that so, lad?" Another, very old looking wizard asked coolly. "And pray tell, where do you think you read such an offending peace of text?!"

"In your law book, my Lord" The boy answered simply. "This is one of your own laws I have been quoting."

"Have you?" Another Lord asked sceptically. "I don't think that anyone of the ministry would ever be for a law like that."

"Well, they weren't" The boy in front of them answered and then send a steady glance across the crowd.

"This is law since 978 when Hogwarts started to open for all students in Great Britain. At that time there was no ministry. It were the Lords of the ancient and noble Houses who at that time were setting up the law. Some of their laws are still in use – like the one I mentioned."

"Is that so?" The first Lord asked interested. "So you really _are able_ prove it."

The answer of the accused was not a 'yes' or 'no'. Instead he intoned.

"_By the rights of the Lords Slytherin and Gryffindor and the Ladies Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, the school of witchcraft and wizardry, known as the respectable and noble school of Haugh's Wards, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, located in the Highlands of Scotland, next to the hamlet of Hogsmeade, is hereby declared as independent from the Lordships and states, so that in times of war it will be a neutral zone. _

"_It hereby will be declared that Haugh's Wards, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will never be part of any legal constitution. The rights and rules of Haugh's Wards will solely be constructed and upheld by the Headmaster, Teachers, Founders and acknowledged Heirs of Haugh's Wards. Any interference from legal constitution may be punished severely. The right of punishment for interference will be by the school. By severely interference such as expelling student, the person who interfered will be held responsible and might lose their right to bear a staff because of deprivation of his school examinations. _

"_In contrast the school will have to take in all children of magical heritage from their eleventh until their seventeenth birthday and teach them to be respectable and noble wizards and witches. _That is the law from 978, stated in the law book as Paragraph 20 A-E."

Fudge snorted unbelieving. "And pray tell, how would a mere boy like you know something like that?!"

"I can read, Minister" the boy answered and pierced the man in front of him with his eyes. "Look it up for yourself, when you don't believe me."

The answer was shuffling of paper when Percy Weasley searched for his copy of the law book. When he found it, he started thumbing through it, until he reached the named paragraph and starred at it.

"Well, Weatherby?" Fudge asked, clearly expecting the boy in front of him to be proven wrong.

"He… he is right, minister." Percy stuttered, still starring at the - for him offending - text in front of him.The boy continued and his glare got as cold as ice.

"The next broken law is that no-one came to Privet Drive to investigate. Since April 1146 there is a law to investigate before taking charges. Paragraph 38 A-G. This law was established after there where incidents of wrongfully imprisoned persons because of lacking investigations. The Gathering of the Lords found this absolutely unacceptable and established a rule of handling the broken secret-status and performing magic in front of mundane people. The law was never altered after that. So that would be the second broken law in a row. The third was preventing the accused getting a legal backer for court. Instead I am standing in front of you without anyone." Now the wizards and witches of Wizengamot shared uneasy glances.

"You… you had Dumbledore… but you turned him down!" Fudge cried, still staring at the uncanny teen.

"He is not, nor will he ever be a legal backer. He might be my headmaster at school but he has no training in legal rights. So even if he would back me up, he would still be another civilian, who does not know all the Paragraphs of the law." The boy replied coolly.

"You could have asked someone…"

"When? You changed the place of the hearing today. Formally it had been an unofficial hearing – where I wouldn't have needed a legal backer. But now it is a trial. A legal backer needs time to know the facts – also, I am a minor. I am legally not allowed to search legal backup without my guardian. My aunt is mundane – she has no access to a magical lawyer. And I had no time to contact her and asked for legal backup. As the court, you have had a duty to see to my needs when you force me to go to court without time to contact a legal backer.

"This might be a newer law of the 19th century but it is still law. As it is established in paragraph 95 A: _Every person accused of a crime has the right to send for legal back-up in court. The legal back-up might be self-provided or in case it is impossible for the accused to get one, there has to be a chance to be provided of a lawyer by the Wizengamot. _Well, I had no time to brief a lawyer with my situation – also counting the change of time and place so that it would have been difficult for my legal back-up to arrive in time – yet there is no alternative to go to." The boy continued.

"Because of breaking these laws, I have no-one who would speak for my behalf. I am accused but unable to defend myself because of your lack of following your own laws. You did not investigate. There is no recording of the scene of crime. There is no asking for witnesses. There isn't even a simple use of truth-serum to investigate if I lie or if I am telling the truth.

"So. How will you be able to judge me, when you have no witnesses except the evidence that I used magic in front of my mundane-cousin?! How will you judge if my use of magic was rightfully if there is no other evidence except of your recording?"

"There is no need of a witness except of our recording. You broke the law, you will pay for it!" Fudge intercepted at that moment.

"I did, didn't I? Or is there a possibility that I didn't break the law?" The boy said and his killing curse eyes were blasting.

"You are underage! You are not allowed to use magic in your holidays! And no-one is allowed to use magic in front of a Muggle!" The minister spluttered. "As long as I am the minister, you will be punished for your crime! Even if you're celebrity I will not let this stop me to follow the law!"

"To follow the law?" The boy starred at the minister, as if said person had said something absolutely stupid. "Which law, Minster Fudge?_ Clause Seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that magic may be used in front of a Muggle in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch him- or herself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the -"_

"_We are familiar with Clause Seven, _boy,_ thank you very much!" snarled Fudge. _

"_Of course you are" _Harry answered courteously. "So why have you done nothing to exclude this Clause. There might have been Dementors in Little Whinging, for all you know."

"There were no Dementors!" Fudge spluttered.

"Evidence, Minister, evidence." The boy said coolly. "You have not sent your people to investigate the scene of crime – like you should have – and now you come and say that 'there were no Dementors'. But you yourself can't prove it. So how come that you think, that you are right?"

Fudge stared at the boy in front of him with hatred in his eyes.

"You…" He started, but was interrupted by Madam Bones.

"The accused has a point, Minister" she said. "How _do_ we know, he had not have to defend himself?"

"The Dementors are under the control of the Ministry. There is no way that a Dementor would come to Little Whinging! The boy just tries to escape his punishment. As an underage wizard he has to follow the rules like everyone else – no celebrity status here!"

"Underage?" The boy questioned in this moment. "That is also something I am laughing about. This is also a law, you have been breaking."

"What are you talking about now, boy?" Fudge hissed, losing his cool. But there was fear in his eyes. Harry knew what the Minister feared. He feared that Harry knew about his Lordship – and the freedom that could come with it when he had turned fifteen…

But Harry said nothing. He definitely would not play_ that _card if he did not have to do it…

"Think about it! I'm fifteen, minister. As you told the court – I am not an adult. But whatever you are telling the Court, you yourself seem to forget that pretty often!" Harry argued instead.

"What do you mean by that, by Merlin?!" Fudge roared, staring at Harry as if he had gone crazy. Maybe Harry had…

"As a minor, I don't just have duties, Fudge – I also have rights. You seem content to forget these every time I am in a situation I do need those rights."

"I am fully aware about your rights, boy!" Fudge cried.

"Are you? In front of the whole court, do you declare you are aware of my rights?"

"Of course I am!"

_It maybe would go without…_

"And the Headmaster – is he also aware of my rights?"

"What has this to do with anything, boy?!" Fudge growled.

"Just let the Headmaster answer my question" Harry said shrugging.

Dumbledore looked at him with confusion.

"Of course I am aware of your rights, Harry" He said finally softly. "You know that this discussion will bring you nowhere…"

_It really_ would _go without…!_

Harry ignored him, instead he looked at the rest of the Wizengamot.

"What's with you, Ladies and Gentlemen? Are you aware of the rights of a minor?"

xXxXx

Amelia Bones had witnessed the whole spectacle until now. Now, addressed as a part of the Wizengamot she felt obliged to answer with a "Yes". Of course she was aware of his status – she was the Head of the Law Department, she had to be aware. She just didn't know what use it had for the boy if they were aware…

She stared at the young boy in front of them, looked at his cool Avada Kedavra-green eyes and saw the determination in them.

And suddenly she could piece the pieces of the puzzle together.

Oh this uncannily cunning little boy!

He was playing them like pipes!

xXxXx

"So you are all aware of my rights. All three. The Minister, the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Chief Warlock and the Wizengamot" Harry said triumphantly, but then stopped. His expression of triumph fainted to nothing except of cool calculation.

"Then you know that there is a creative precedent from 1753." He continued with less triumph in his voice.

"Thomas Avery, orphan and last of the House Avery at that time, was permitted the rights of an emancipated wizard after he had been treated like that by more than one law-institution. In his case it had been the Minister, the Head of the Magical Law Department and the Head of the Aurors. This creative precedent was established as Paragraph 261C in the law book."

Fudge glanced at Percy Weasley. Said secretary was thumbing through the law book in front of him until he found the paragraph.

"There is in fact a creative precedent from 1753, minister" Percy finally confirmed, while starring absolutely stunned at the text in front of him.

"Well, now after you have your proof, minister, let's continue." The boy in front of them said. "Last year I have been participating in the Tri-wizard-tournament, a tournament solely for wizards beyond their seventeenth year of life. I participated and I was able to compete with the other, seventeen year old participants.

"So, as this Tournament is solely for adult wizards, a guardian on my behalf had to enter me in this Tournament. My guardian, as I am aware of, is my aunt. She did not enter me or permit me to enter. In school, you could say, it is the Headmaster who is my guardian – and he permitted it. But seeing, that the Tournament is solely for adults he also recognized and therefore treated me like an adult.

"So he knowingly ignored my rights as a minor and forced me to participate in something a minor had no right to be in."

"Even if he did – this has nothing to do with your case!" Fudge spluttered. Amelia Bones snorted at this.

"But it does, Minister" the boy answered. "It is an essential part in this trial."

"And pray tell, how should your participation in the Tri-Wizard-Tournament have any meaning in your case?" Fudge growled and Amelia Bones knew the boy had him. There was no escaping now.

"Simple" the boy answered. "He started what you finished. He treated me like an adult like you are doing now. I asked you if you are aware of the rights of a minor. I asked the Headmaster and the Wizengamot the same. You all answered the positive – and still are breaking this rights without even to hesitate when it comes to me.

So basically, you both – and with you the Wizengamot agree that I am no child!"

xXxXx

"Now, see here, boy!" Fudge grumbled. "I did no such a thing. So there is no way…"

"You did not?" The boy intercepted. "But you suggesting, that you did!"

"How dare you to state such a lie!"

"But it isn't a lie, Minister", the boy answered emotionless, "Paragraph 40 E states that '_only an adult is to be tried in front of the whole Wizengamot._' And here we are. Me as the accused and you – you who are trying me with the _whole court_! A simple case of underage magic is never tried with the whole Wizengamot, so why, when I'm not an adult yet, is this different for me than for the others?"

This question roused another ruckus in the audience. Fudge opened his mouth just to close it again. His eyes seemed to budge out of their holes.

Harry stared back at him, his death-eyes fixed on him.

"I still wait for an answer to that question, Minister." He said coolly. But Fudge stayed still, still staring at Harry as if he saw him for the first time.

Finally Madam Bones took petty on the flabbergasted man and spoke up herself. She had understood a while ago that the boy would take this route – she just didn't know _why_...

"That is a good question, young man" she said. "Still, even if you are today treated like an adult in front of the law – what use is this for you? You still have performed a Patronus in front of a Muggle."

"It is simple, Madam Bones", the boy answered her. "When I am treated like an adult I am allowed to give you my memory of the event. Then you would be able to see the facts behind my spell. Memories can't be forged without seeing the change, and displayed in the Courtroom of the Wizengamot they can be freely seen by everyone."

When the boy answered this question, Madam Bones hesitated for a moment, then she nodded.

"Do it. The Minister has been treating you like an adult, so why not looking at your memories. Do you know how to extract memories?" she asked.

"Of course" The boy replied with an experienced tone. Something Amelia Bones never had expected from a boy of fifteen years.

The boy extracted a memory from his mind and stood up. Without hesitation or the need of instructions he stepped forward to a deepening in the floor. In it he dropped the memory.

Then he nodded to Madam Bones and returned to his seat.

"Show" Madam Bones instructed and suddenly the whole wall behind the boy lit up and built a visible scene.

The first, that they could see, was absolute darkness. Then a memory of coldness began to creep into the courtroom and not just a few of the wizards and witches shivered.

Dementor-cold.

Then you could hear the breathing, the rasping and rattling breathes. A human cry could be heard in the darkness, the panic in the voice filled the air.

"_DUDLEY; KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO; KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!"_ Then there was a muttering and a short light where the wand lay. The boy in the memory clasped the wand.

A panicked _"Expecto Patronum" _Just white fog, bright enough to show the Dementor creeping near the boy. Then it hit the Dementor and broke. Again an _"Expecto Patronum_" and again just fog, the Dementor now just a few inches away from the boy, its hand reached for the boy. Blackness again.

Shuffling, running steps in the darkness.

And then a loud "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _A phoenix erupted from the wand of the boy, now a few feet away from the Dementor. The phoenix golden light filled the alleyway and showed another Dementor, clasping another boys wrists and wrestling with him. The boy was losing. And then the phoenix took over, drove away the Dementors with so much force, that the Dementors seemed to be harmed by the creature.

The memory ended and the whole court fell silent.

"Dementors", Madam Bones finally said. "Dementors in a Muggle suburb."

"That… that can't be real!" Fudge cried. "It is a lie! Mr. Potter is using forged…"

"You know as well as I that a memory can't be forged without everyone recognizing it, Minister Fudge!" Madam Bones interrupted him. "The young man has been telling the truth to this court! And don't forget: he showed us what happened. He did not just tell us – he showed us! How can you argue against that?!"

"But… but…" Fudge stuttered.

"I would be quiet, if I were you, Minister" Madam Bones interrupted. "I am not happy with you! You took this Underage Magic incident in front of the whole Wizengamot-"

"The boy had broken the law the third time! He blew up his aunt last year and the year before he used a hovering charm!"

"Did he?" Madam Bones turned around to the lad in front of her.

"I did blow up my aunt", the boy answered without hesitation. "It was accidental magic."

"Accidental?"

"I did not use a wand or a spell. I just… blew her up…" The boy filled the Wizengamot in. "This is not court-able. Paragraph D of the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that accidental magic of a minor before his second maturity, done without a wand and without the intent to do it, is not punishable because the minor has still to learn how to fully control his or her magic."

At this Madam Bones smiled. "You are right, Mr. Potter." She confirmed. "But there is still the incident with the hovering charm."

"I can show you the incident." The boy answered without hesitation.

"I think, this time it will be enough to just tell us."

"Well… but it sounds not… well… believable."

"Just tell. When we need to see it, you can show us afterward."

"I just warned", the boy answered. "It was a crazy house-elf."

"A house-elf?!" The witch beside Fudge snorted, "And pray tell, how did a house-elf get…"

The boy's eyes got deadly.

"I told you it is unbelievable. But when you want to, I will show you the incident…"

"I don't think, that that is necessary", Madam Bones interrupted while staring the Minister and the witch next to him – Dolores Umbridge – down. "I believe you – and even if I didn't, it was just one incident, nothing to be punished for."

"But…" Fudge started.

"You, Minister, should think about what you are saying." Madam Bones interrupted again. "Alone in this sole case you have ignored several laws, the most of them in place to have a fair trial for the accused! I will see to this when we end this case. But now: finish! And I warn you, if you even try to stall a bit I will look through all your doings in the last few years. Even if I find nothing – you wouldn't see your office for the next five month! So, do you have to say anything else?"

"No" This time, Fudge sounded bitter.

"Well then onto the charges." Madam Bones said. "_Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?"_

More than eighty percent of the Wizengamot raised their hands.

"_And those in favour of conviction?"_

This time it was just Fudge, the witch beside him and a few others. Harry scrutinized them, until the most of them turned their eyes away. He would have to remember them later. They were either in Fudges pocket or Death Eaters.

So simplified: They were both enemies.

_Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large suck in his throat, then he lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, "Very well, very well… cleared of all charges."_

Harry smiled at that.

"Thank you, Minister" He said pleasantly. "Until the next time. I would advise you to pray that we will never see each other again, but I know, this will never be the case. We will see each other again – and next time, it will be less pleasant for you."

With that he stood and left the room, nodding at the rest of the Wizengamot and his headmaster.

But his face stayed carefully blank until he reached the floor outside the courtroom. Then a creepy smiled spread over his features. "Harryjames – one. The Wizengamot and the Headmaster – zero."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	15. Chapter 14: Horror-crux Night

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Horror-crux Night**

sss

When Harry left the room, Albus could do nothing but stare at the vanishing form of the boy he had deemed the saviour.

_Something was wrong with the boy._

Albus had never seen Harry act like that before. Of course, it had been some time – some months – since he had seen the boy the last time. The last time…

The last time he had seen Harry, the boy had just won the Triwizard Tournament and his first battle against a reborn Dark Lord.

Since then Albus Dumbledore had been nervous to meet the boy again. Albus of course knew about the Horcrux in Harry's scar and he feared that Harry would be influenced by it, now that Voldemort had returned…

The trial today just aided to Albus' believes.

_How?! _

_How had the boy managed to get off without his help?!_

_How had the boy known all this?!_

Albus had brought the boy to Petunia and stopped every contact the boy could have to the wizarding world so that the boy would not be raised in the traditional ways of the pure-bloods – and now the boy suddenly was acting as if he had been raised like a pure-blood all along…!

This was not something Albus had wanted or even imagined.

He had wanted Harry to be raised like a Muggle or Muggle-born. He had thought that when the saviour of the wizarding world would act like a Muggle-born that the rest of the pure-blood would see the error of their ways. Albus had hoped that the pure-blood would finally stop clinging to customs that were long out-dated – instead Harry suddenly seemed to know a lot more about the law and custom of the wizarding world then he should have.

_But how…?!_

_Had he researched it with his friends?_ Albus would not be happy if he had, but he would understand that.

_Or had it been Voldemort's influence…?!_

Albus tried to shrug of his concern, but he couldn't.

The cold voice, the emotionless face, the cool intelligence – _Voldemort_.

The charming behaviour, the cunning mind, the perfect manners – _Voldemort._

The knowledge about everything he needed to know, the ability to sway the crowd, the ability to induct fear, loyalty and awe – _Voldemort._

The boy had acted so much – maybe too much?! – like a charismatic and young Tom Riddle… _Voldemort in all his former glory._

Albus shuddered and prayed that he was wrong. He prayed that someone at Grimauld Place had broken their promise to him and had the boy taught how to act and what to state – because if they hadn't there was a great chance that the connection between the Horcrux and Harry was starting to get stronger than Albus had predicted…

There was just one consultation for Albus: the boy still did not know about the rule of emancipation. As long as the boy did not claim his lordship he would stay a minor and was as such still under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore. Maybe Albus could do something to rescue the boy if he truly had given in to the Horcrux in his head…

_If_ it was the Horcrux that let him act the way he did…

"Tonight" he decided. "I will speak to the members of the Order of tge Phoenix tonight. Maybe one of them has done or seen something that explains Harry's behaviour today…"

And if they hadn't… well, Albus would go there later when he had to…

xXxXxXx

When Harry left the room, Fudge was fuming.

_How…?!_

_How had the boy been able to get of the hook like that?!_

_How had the boy swayed the Wizengamot?!_

Fudge had been sure that he would be able to capture the boy with that spell. He needed the boy to be captured by it! He feared that the public would follow the boy. He feared that the boy was telling the truth and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really had returned. The Potters were an important, powerfull family. They had a large political cloud and until now the boy had done nothing to jeopardise it.

Of course, the articles about the boy last year had not been supporting the boy – but they had not been scandalous enough to slander the boy also. And the boy _had_ won the Triwizard Tournament with fourteen years of age and the boy _had_ killed a dark lord when he was a baby…

Every negative press was fading away when you looked at the accomplishments of the boy – and even the articles that were printed the last few month about the boy's insanity in the _Daily Prophet _did not really jeopardise the political cloud the boy had.

A political cloud that came from the Potter family, the deeds of James and Lily Potter and the deeds the boy had done in his short life. The killing of You-Know-Who, the winning of the Triwizard Tournament, the rumours about facing a Professor when he tried to steal the Philosopher's stone and the rumour about ridding the school of Salazar Slytherin's monster…

Even if the last two were just rumours – the power the boy had shown by killing a dark lord as an infant and winning the Triwizard Tournament was enough to endear him to many. The boy just had to come to the Wizengamot session in January when the new lords would be introduced and he would have enough power to threaten even Fudge's position as the Minister of Magic. The boy himself might be too young to be the Minister of Magic – but with his influence and power he would be able to aid Albus Dumbledore in his quest to be the new Minister and he would win. Fudge would be unable to hold his seat against two slayers of dark lords…

But Fudge would not give up his position without a fight.

He had worked for this position. He had lived for this position.

He would not simply step aside.

There was just one thing h could do…

"_Daily Prophet_" he announced while stepping in the flames of his floo-fire. He would visit the _Daily Prophet _to ensure that the boy's reputation would finally be tarnished…

xXxXxXx

When Amelia Bones finally returned to her office, she hoped for a quiet evening. The trial today had been energy-sapping. She really didn't know how she felt at the moment – but she was quiet sure that Fudge was definitely not her favoured person today.

First he had stopped Mafalda Hopkirk from doing her duty by bringing the Potter-heir in front of the Wizengamot and then he had butchered up the whole trial by disregarding the laws he had sworn to follow – and the Potter-heir had known it all along.

Amelia was quiet sure that the Potter-heir had played them the whole time they were in court.

"And I thought the boy was a Gryffindor" she mused, thinking about the things her niece had told her when she asked her about Harry Potter. At that time it had been mere curiosity that had Amelia driven to find her answers – now she was spiked with longing to know about the boy.

"When the boy really is a Gryffindor, then he might have had aid" Amelia thought and sat down in the chair behind her desk. "There is no way a Gryffindor would be able to come up with something like that…"

Except the Gryffindor was a snake in a lion's fur all along…

Again Amelia repeated the morning in her head.

The boy_ had_ played them – but he had done it with the truth as he knew it, a feat that not even Lucius Mafoy would have easily pulled of…

Amelia sighed and buried her head in her hands – just to stop and stare at a piece of parchment that was lying innocently on her table.

sSs

_Do you want to be responsible for another innocent's fake-trial? There aren't just innocent Potters out there – after all, there is a Black on the loose. _

_Sometimes you have to look a second time. _

_And sometimes you have to be a Slytherin to get justice._

_RAB_

sSs

She blinked, but the parchment did not vanish under her unbelieving eyes.

_Another innocent?_

_A Black on the loose?_

_Slytherin?!_

"It's definitely not my day" Amelia finally decided and tucked the piece of parchment in her desk. She had no desire to think about anything like that riddle in front of her at the moment.

"It can wait until tomorrow" she said to herself. "I finish early today."

And with that she left the office, not knowing that the piece of parchment would make a lot of more sense to her in the future. Even if it would take her some time to understand this twisted message at all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was night at Grimauld Place No 12. And while the children had been send to bed some time ago, the adults weren't sleeping.

Instead more and more people entered silently the house and went to the crammed kitchen. The last one was Albus Dumbledore. He closed and locked the door behind himself before setting some wards that prevented spying.

"So, tell us, Albus – how was the trial?" Molly Weasley asked. "The boy said he was cleared of all charges but he did not tell us more."

"Yes. I also want to know" Moody said grumpily. "Was your influence enough to let the boy of the hook?"

Albus Dumbledore himself sighted. He was not sure how to tell the people in front of him that the boy had somehow managed to be cleared by himself. By Merlin, Albus himself wasn't even sure how the boy had managed to play the whole Wizengamot until they had to let him go because of the evidence his memory provided.

_The boy was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! How the hell had he managed a Slytherin approach like that?!_

"It did not go like I planed" he finally said sighting. Moody and the others looked at him.

"So it was just luck that the boy was cleared?" Moody asked. "They did not accept the witness Arabella was giving?"

"No" Albus answered, shaking his head. "I never asked Arabella to enter."

"So how…?" this time it was Arthur Weasley that asked the question.

"I was not allowed to be the witness for the defence." Albus answered tiredly.

"Fudge prevented it?!" this time a lot of voices asked the same question.

"No, Harry did" Albus answered.

"Why?!" the voices asked – all except one. Sirius Black was sitting on his chair, laughing.

"_He_ did stop you when you tried to rescue him – and he got of himself?! That is hilarious!" the Animagus laughed barking. "Absolutely hilarious!"

Albus threw a sharp look at the laughing younger man before he answered.

"I do not know myself" he said. "But he prevented me from interfering and after that simply… crushed… the Minister with his own laws…"

The others blinked.

"He used the laws to defend himself?" Moody verified.

"Yes" Albus answered. "And some of them were laws I never heard before. He wasn't even a little bit afraid when he was standing in front of them – and finally he tricked them so that he was able to show them his memory."

"He knew about the possibility to do that?" Moody asked astonished.

"He did. And he used it to its fullest." Albus answered seriously. "What did he do while he was here?"

The Weasleys and Sirius looked at each other.

"He cleaned with us" Molly finally stated. "And when he did not clean he was with Ron and Hermione. Once I saw him in the library doing his homework… why?"

Albus sighted. He had hoped that Molly and the others had seen Harry while he planed the trick he had pulled in the Ministry but they hadn't.

He even wished that anyone would have helped Harry to do what he had done – because when they hadn't he was not sure how Harry had done it. And that was a terrifying thought. What, when Voldemort had helped him?! Was the link between these two open enough so that Harry could access the things Voldemort knew?!

"I just wondered when he had time to prepare for the trial." He finally answered Molly. Moody looked at him sharply but said nothing until the meeting ended and the other ones had left to go home or to go to bed.

"You fear something, Albus" Moody said, still looking at him intensively. "What do you fear?"

Albus sighted, then decided to give away a little bit of his information.

"The boy has a link to Voldemort" he said whispering.

"And you fear he was able to get of because he had the information the Dark Lord provided" Moody concluded.

"Yes."

"I will look out for the boy" Moody said. "When he really access the mind of the Dark Lord we will know it."

"Thank you my friend."

And with that both of them also left, not seeing the tiny figure that popped in the kitchen and loosened a tiny Muggle-recorder from beneath the table.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

While the Order of the Phoenix held their meeting in the kitchen, in another, unused room of the house two other people were still awake.

The room was empty and small. Once it maybe had been a room for cleaning supplies and other things you don't use in daily routine. Now it was used for something entire different.

The runes, hieroglyphs, pentagrams and circles painted on the walls, ceiling and floor of the room implied the new use of the room. It had been changed to a ritual chamber.

And in the middle of this ritual chamber two objects were lying on the floor.

"Stand aside, Reg" a voice whispered and Regulus Black who had placed the objects in the middle-circle went to another circle painted on the floor right behind the door.

"Let's begin" the voice whispered again. And suddenly runes out of blue fire were drawn in the air. A moment later they vanished and with them the little noise from outside you could hear vanished also.

And then the chanting began.

Regulus himself watched from his secured place at the outer side of the ritualistic circle. He had seen this scene before but he still was unable to look away.

The first time he had seen it was ten years ago when the man in front of him had vanished the first Horcrux they had found. At that time he had known nearly nothing about the man. He had had woken up just a few weeks before that time after a magical coma of six years.

He had known nothing except that the man had rescued him back in 1979 from dying. And after that had looked after him until the potion in his system finally had worn of and he was able to wake up again.

He stared at the other one – ten years back it had been a man, now it was a boy – saw him drawing runes with the glowing staff in his hands. Then the green eyes of the other suddenly lightened up in unearthly light. They glowed as if filled with little, green suns, their gaze shone on the objects he was destroying.

Regulus never had seen a wizard using techniques like that. The air felt heavy and foreign. The magic flowing from the runes felt sweeter and earthy and absolutely different then the magic Reg was used to.

The first time the boy had vanished a Horcrux Regulus had been absolutely awestricken. And even now…

He could not look away, even when the light the runes and lines began to glow in started to hurt his eyes. Unearthly – that was the only description he was able to.

And then the chanting in a language Regulus could not place stopped and a soft hissing sound penetrated the silence.

Suddenly a black fog erupted from the two objects in the middle of the circle. The fog tried to take on a different shape, but white glowing light hindered the forming.

Again a chanting was heard. This time filled with soft hisses and words that sounded like Arabian.

The purifying.

The first time Regulus had seen it, he was not sure if the man in front of him tried not to invoke more evil as already was there. This time he knew it wasn't like that.

In that moment black and green fire erupted from the objects and reached for the black fog. A high pitched shriek could be heard when the fire began to consume the fog. Then the fog vanished in the flames.

It took another moment and then the unnatural fire also vanished, leaving behind the untainted Hufflepuff cup and Slytherin locket.

The boy sighted and disabled the runes and the runic circle.

Then he simply fell to his knees, totally spend.

Regulus left his corner to hurry to the boy's side.

"Are you okay?" he asked the boy.

"I am. Just tired. Help me to bed?"

Regulus sighted, feeling relieved that the boy seemed alright.

"Let me clean you up, then I will bring you to bed" Reg said and conjured a flannel and some water to rub away the runes and hieroglyphs Harry had painted in blood on his body.

"Thanks" the boy said when finally the last drop of blood was cleaned from his naked chest. "I hate this ritual. In other rituals the blood would simply vanish after I finalize the ritual. I don't know why it is different with that one…"

"Maybe because you are destroying something?" Regulus guessed.

Harry looked at the objects in front of him.

"Maybe" he said, and then came to his feet with a little help from Regulus. "Maybe."

Regulus opened the door and stopped listening. Nothing.

Silently they creped downstairs to the room Harry shared with Ron. There, Regulus opened the door to look in. Ron was sleeping soundlessly. So they were safe. They entered and Reg helped Harry to bed.

"Thanks" Harry said, Reg just snorted.

"You did the whole work. Bringing you to bed is definitely the easier part."

Harry just rolled with his eyes.

"Nevertheless thanks."

Reg smiled at him.

"Sleep, Harry. We wouldn't wake Ron now, would we?"

"Definitely not" Harry answered yawning, and then closed his eyes. "Hide the objects, will you?"

"Of course."

"Hide yourself as well."

"Sure."

Harry yawned again.

"Sleep, Harry."

"Will do."

And with that the boy closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Regulus looked down at the boy he had sworn to help. Now, asleep the boy looked absolutely harmless. Regulus took the glasses of the boy and put them on the table beside the bed.

He sighted.

A child. He was following the advices and command of a child. When he would not know that the boy in front of him was older than he looked, he would declare himself crazy.

He shook his head.

"Let's start the beginning of the end" he whispered sighting and still head shaking. "Let's see what's left after you are through with them…"

And with that he left the room to hide the Ex-Horcruxes and finally to go to bed himself.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it. Maybe there'll be a two-chapter Christmas-bonus in the next days, we'll see – but definitely one other I'll promise to post before Christmas._

_I hope you like it…_

_Just another warning beforehand: I might have to change the age-limit because there might be some things in the next chapters that will not fit with the K+ limit I have now… But we'll see._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	16. Chapter 15: 35AD Battlefield-strategist

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_**Warning: **__Changed rating (because of the next chapter and maybe a little bit because of this one also). Wounds and healing description – but nothing too grave._

_Well, I had no time on Christmas… but I have some time now…_

_Happy New Year_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 35 AD**

**Battlefield-strategist**

sss

Sal sliced the enemy. One moment his opponent still stood there, frozen in time, then he simply fell. His body hit the floor, his blood trenching the earth and his head rolling of to cuddle to one of his alleys.

Sal turned away, used to the gruesome pictures death could paint.

He stopped one moment to check his right shoulder. The opponent's blade had ruined his leather-armour and sliced his flesh. He changed his sword-arm, swinging the long knife with his left instead with his right. No problem – he had learned fighting with both hands years ago and the damaged one still could use his staff…

Then his attention turned to his head. He had a bump where a shield had hit him and did not wear a helmet anymore. Blood had clumped his hair and he had to remove some blood from his eyebrows, which was threatening to fall into his eyes.

Head-wound. He felt a little bit dizzy, but it was nothing he could not cope with.

"Alright" he thought and turned again to the battle. "Still a few to go."

And so he went on, searching for a comrade in need, battling the enemy with all he had – be it magic, knowledge or sole strength. He joined the battle, still aware of the enemy and the tiny huts behind him, just protected by his long knife and his will.

xXxXx

Several hours later the battle had succumbed. Here and there were still fighting pairs, but the most of the invaders had been killed, had fled or were prisoners.

Sal sighed and looked again at his hurt shoulder. He had had no time to cleanse it or to bandage it. He had just used a spell to stop the blood-flow and had went on.

Now he touched his wound, really looked at it and sighed. There was no way that this would not scar. He knew that, he had learned that a long time ago.

With practiced moves he removed his tunic and cleansed the wound. The pain was horrible, but he had to do it. Gangrene was nothing he could afford to have.

"Hey, need help there, my friend?"

Sal looked up and saw a goblin coming in his direction.

"This looks pretty awful" The goblin said, taking a look at Sal's shoulder.

"It will heal" Sal answered confidently.

"It will" The goblin answered. "And now let me do this. I will treat it temporary until you can find someone to treat this. I might not be a Healer, but I am a good first aid."

Sal smiled at the goblin.

"I am a Healer" He said, still smiling. "Don't worry – it's nothing grave. It must be cleansed and bandaged, with some potion laced bandages it will heal by itself in a few weeks."

The goblin raised an eyebrow.

"You're a Healer?" he asked astonished. "Are you human Healers so bad at your profession that you have to go to battle to get some praise?"

"No" Sal answered laughing. "I did not join the battle for praise. I had to defend the village." He gestured to the still standing village a few yards away from the battle field. "I joined as soon as the invaders broke through the defence. I could not let them enter the village and hurt the children."

The goblin looked back at the village, then at Sal.

"I never heard of a Healer joining a battle" He said. "No goblin-healer ever would think of that. I thought the human healers were much the same."

"They normally are" Sal answered while letting the goblin bandage him. "But I am no normal Healer."

"You're not?" The goblin asked while wrapping the gauze around Sal's shoulder but then he nodded.

"Yes, you're definitely not." He said. "A children defending, battling Healer is not usual, but a human Healer defending a goblin village against humans is definitely odd."

Sal blinked at these words. He knew he had had no regular contact with other druids but surely…

"So you want to tell me that a… well… normal druid never would have thought of defending the village – just because they're _goblins_?!" he asked astonished and appalled.

The goblin looked at him oddly.

"That's the usual behaviour" he said staring at Sal as if he was a foreign species. "Did your master never tell you something like that?!"

With this question he turned Sal's head, looking at the head-wound.

"Why should she?" Sal asked blinking and forgetting that the goblin would maybe know the names, he continued. "Medrawd and I never heard her say something against any other creature – well, except of Medrawd's father. She hates Arthur's guts."

"Medrawd? Arthur?" The goblin asked, now clearly stunned. Then suddenly he grabbed Sal's chin and turned his head so that Sal had to look in his eyes. The death-green eyes of the Healer met the warm, brown eyes of the goblin warrior.

"By the buried treasures!" The goblin exclaimed, still staring at Sal, but now with absolute worship in his eyes. "You're Morgana's son!"

Sal was baffled.

"Uh…" He said. "I'm not Medrawd."

"Of course you're not, child" the goblin answered bemused. "You told me about your brother before."

"Hu?"

"Now hush child, my clan will help you now. You need some rest."

"But…"

"It's alright child" The goblin said, shaking his head. "I know most of the druids don't like your mother – but you can't deny your ancestry. You have inherited her eyes…"

"I know…" Sal answered while letting the goblin cleanse his head-wound. "She was not sure if she really liked it that_ I_ had her eyes while Medrawd…"

"So Medrawd hasn't Morgana's eyes – that's something new, even for the goblin" the goblin said interested.

"Well, no" Sal answered still a little stunned. "He couldn't. He has not the right mind-concept to inherit them. He hasn't the 'people-saving-thing' you must have to inherit the line of Pendragon – and because the LeFay-line has mixed with Pendragon he also hadn't the right mind-set for the LeFay-line's green eyes. It's complicated."

"So you inherited the Family Magick of LeFay because you're not Pendragon?" the goblin asked interested while also starting to bandage Sal's head.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"I am Pendragon" he said. "But unlike Medrawd, I unfortunately have inherit this 'people-saving-thing' – or why do you think I am a Healer _and_ have joined a battle I would definitely have done without?"

The goblin chuckled.

"I see." He said and let Sal go. "I am Vayland by the way."

"Salvazsahar" Sal answered, the goblin raised an eyebrow at the name.

"That's a mouth-full" he said. Sal stared back.

"Not more than Vayland" he countered.

The goblin laughed.

"You might be right, Morganaadth" he answered still chucking. "You might be right."

"Uh… it's Salvazsahar" Sal corrected.

"I know, Morganaadth" the goblin answered, "I know. And now, up with you. We should bring you to a Healer."

"Later" Sal answered. "First I have to aid the wounded."

"You're hurt yourself" the goblin countered, but Sal would hear nothing of it.

"It is my duty to heal" he said. "I am born with gifts – I will not let these gifts go unused just because I have some scratches."

The goblin blinked surprised, then he chuckled again.

"Ever thought about living with us goblins for a while?" he asked.

Sal shrugged.

"No" he answered truthfully. "Never. I have lived with the elves and some other Firbolg – but it just happened. I never thought about living with any of them until I did, why?"

"Well, because I would invite you to." Vayland answered. "You seem to fit in our culture without trying – so why not testing to live with us."

"Uh…" Sal stared at the goblin in front of him, trying to figure out why he had been invited. "I am not Morgana's son." He finally said, thinking that the invitation might base on that.

"Whatever you say, Morganaadth" the goblin answered while following Sal from patient to patient. "Whatever you say."

Somehow Sal doubted that the goblin really _did _believe his words…

But now, he had no time to argue with the goblin. Instead he had a job to do – and a horrible job it was.

The goblin had won against the wizards – but the price was high. Sal finally decided to put the most of the wounded in stasis and continue on. He would have to treat them later – now he had to try and put as much under stasis as he could to save their lives.

"What are you doing?" Vayland asked him while following him over the battlefield.

"Stasis-runes" Sal answered. "Most of them are too hurt to live on without them. I have to stop their death before healing them."

Finally the rest of the small battles succumbed and other healers started to fill the battlefield.

"Put them under stasis and move on" Sal advised. "There are too much too gravely hurt to heal them thoroughly now. For the less hurt use simple first aid. We have to stop the dying first."

The other healers followed his advice instantly, no one questioned his authority. Maybe no-one dared to question it. Sal was an experienced healer – he was field healing people since more then five hundred years, even if he was healing professionally just since ten years – and his experience were showing in everything he did.

Sal did not know it, but all the others – goblin and wizard alike – could see the aura of authority and power around his person. No-one dared to question it.

And Sal was right. They worked three days straight before the last stasis charms could be lifted. Later this battle would written down as the 'Great battle of the North Fields' and it would be marked as the battle with the least dead.

But while Sal was working with the stasis-charms and all his abilities he never thought of history. He just saw the lives that threatened to end and his ability to prevent it. Of course he could not rescue all. Some were injured too much and some had died while the battle was still on. But a lot of deaths could be prevented.

When it finally ended, Sal was utterly exhausted. His shoulder hurt and he could not see straight anymore. He finally just succumbed to his exhaustion and fell unconscious after he ended the final stasis of the last of the wounded.

He woke up two days later in the care of the goblin healers. Next to his bed stood Vayland and another, more impressive looking, elderly goblin. Both goblins looked a lot alike so Sal guessed that the older goblin was Vayland's father.

"So you are finally awake, Morganaadth" Vayland said, looking down at him, then he gestured to the elderly goblin. "My father Gringooed" he said. "Father wanted to see you as soon as you wake up."

The other goblin scrutinized him. "We are impressed" he finally declared with a voice that sounded like coming from a tomb. "We goblin never have seen someone like you before. Being able to cast stasis-charms like that and after that healing the wounded – impressive."

Vayland nodded enthusiastic. "Now we know why your mother is feared by so much druids" he added while showing his teeth slightly. Sal would later learn that it was an expression to show your graditued.

Sal just blinked surprised and a little bit unsure. He still felt tired and it took a moment before he could catch on.

"I am a Healer" he finally said, trying to downplay his deeds. "I am here to prevent death as good as I can. I had to give my all."

The other, elderly goblin snorted.

"And that you did. First shielding our young and old ones and after that rescuing our warriors. And you even aren't one of us." Sal just shrugged.

"It does not matter." He answered.

"Oh, but it does" Gringooed said. "As chieftain of the goblin nation it is my duty to repay the debt we have. But what is enough to repay the debt of our lives? There is not enough gold on this earth to repay what you have done for us."

"I do not need repayment" Sal answered. "And you aided me when I was hurt – that should be repayment enough."

"But it isn't" Vayland and Gringooed insisted before Gringooed continued. "I spoke with the elder-council. We decided there is just one way to repay you. We will make you one of us. You will be a clan-leader and your family will be part of the goblin nation."

Sal stared at him unbelievingly.

"I thought you would not let druids join your world."

"Normally we don't. But you are special" Gringooed answered shrugging. "Even if there are some elders who would like it more if you were a Firbolg like us and not… a druid." He grimaced.

Sal stared at the grimacing goblins in front of him, then he finally decided to ease the unease the two goblins were feeling.

"I am not human" he said and Vayland and Gringooed blinked surprised.

"Mother was an _Olde one_ and father also. I cannot be a human because I do not have a human soul at all." Sal explained and suddenly Gringooed grinned.

"So I am able to present you as a Firbolg-born – and as such as a mixed Firbolg." Gringooed summarized.

"Well… yes" Sal answered nervously.

"But you don't have the abilities of your inheritance?" Vayland asked interested.

"Well, some I have" Sal answered. "I can heal with my tears like the Phoenix I am descendent from and I am poisonous like the Basilisk."

Sal decided to skip that he also could kill someone with his gaze or the fire of Arthur if he really wanted to. He also skipped the Family Magick of Morgana. It would not go over well to frighten the goblin.

Gringooed instead grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Did you use your tears to heal some of the goblins?" he asked interested.

Sal just shrugged.

"Some" he answered. "But they are my last resort. It is tiring to produce tears to heal. They are laced with my magic – and as such I will tire if I use them too often."

The goblin just nodded.

"That would explain why a Phoenix does not often heal others with its tears" he said thoughtfully. "Their power might be unbelievable strong – but the price they pay is high so they save it for the last resort."

Sal just shrugged again.

"Maybe" he answered, not really caring. Well, he did not care until he remembered his second year at Hogwarts and the fight with the Basilisk. Fawks had done everything to aid him – he even had finally healed him. Why?!

When it took as much strength as it did for Sal, why did the Phoenix heal him at all?

His thoughts were interrupted by Vayland.

"Are you able to stand up, Morganaadth?" he asked. Sal nodded tiredly. He slowly stood up and followed father and son out of the cottage he was in.

They still were in the village Sal had helped to defend. But now the market place of the village wasn't deserted like it had been while the fighting had taken place. Instead a council of several old goblins was waiting for them.

"So this is the human that defended us, chieftain" one of the old goblins said.

"He is the one who defended us" Gringooed answered. "But my son was mistaken. He isn't a human at all."

As soon as he said that the atmosphere changed. Where there had been distrust before there was suddenly a hopeful surprise in the air.

"So, what is he then if he isn't a druid?" the same old goblin said.

"He is a Firbolg-born. A child of the Firbolg – and his soul is as non-human as ours" Vayland replied for his father.

"And do you have other evidence then his words?" the old one asked.

"Several of our warriors have been healed by Phoenix tears – that is something the healers have told us themselves. What we did not know was that it had been his tears as he is a Phoenix-born." Gringooed answered.

"Have you seen it yourself, chieftain?"

"No."

"Then you did believe him because he told you that?" the old one said. "We cannot believe something on hear-say."

"I don't think that Morganaadth would lie to us" Vayland answered for his father. "There is no reason…"

He trailed of when suddenly murmurs erupted between the old goblins. Then the speaker of them stepped forward until he reached Sal and turned his face so that he could see Sal's eyes.

"You really have Morgana's eyes" he said surprised. "Tell us – are you really her son as Vayland said or are you simply someone who has eyes like her?!"

Sal opened his mouth to deny his relationship with Morgana but instead he answered. "I am her son."

"With whom, child?"

"My fathers are Arthur Pendragon and Myrddin Emrys."

When he closed his mouth again he saw a rune flicker in the air. A truth-rune. Sal cursed inwardly. He had been asked if he was Morgana's son. As she had adopted him he really was – even if she hadn't birthed him. As he could not lie he had told them the truth – and this truth contained that he _was _Morgana's son, if he wanted or not.

"So you are Medrawed."

"No. My name is Salvazsahar. I am the younger one." And he was as he had been adopted by Morgana after Medrawed had been born.

And suddenly the elder goblin smiled. It was a little bit frightening to see the sharp teeth of the goblin, but Sal dismissed the unsettling feeling he had and crafted a mask on his face.

"The son of Morgana LeFay and Arthur Pendragon" the goblin finally said, forgetting that Sal also had added Myrddin's name to his parents. "A child born to two families that are still counted as Firbolg among us even if they truly are the descendants of Firbolg. As your parents both are counted as one of us there is no problem to count you as a Firbolg as well."

"So there is no objection in claiming him as kin to us goblin?" Gringooed asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Non at all, chieftain. Forgive me, I doubted your lead."

"As you shouldn't have" Gringooed said coolly but then he nodded and turned to Sal.

"Welcome home, Morganaadth, child of Morgana and Arthur. Welcome to the way of the goblin." Years later Sal would learn that those words where the traditional greeting a chieftain or a clan-leader greeted a new-born babe.

"And now" Vayland said. "We will do something against that pitiful thing you call a weapon. I could not stand the sight of this_ thing_ in battle – and I definitely will not let a clan-leader of the goblins run around aimed with garbage!"

Sal stared at the goblin, then his gaze followed Vayland's gaze to his short sword.

"It has aided me well" he finally said and Vayland snorted.

"It is nothing a respectable goblin would be seen with" Vayland said. "You are a clan-leader – you would die before carrying a… _thing_… like that!"

"Er… I would?"

"Yes!" Vayland replied. "And now come along. I will craft you weapons that are worthy of a healer, defender and clan-leader!" With that he turned and Sal, still feeling a little bit lost, followed the goblin after being literally pushed by Gringooed to follow Vayland.

Vayland was still muttering under his breath about a healer carrying garbage to battle. Sal decided not to comment. He knew his sword was not as good as Arthur's Caledfwlch which had been embodied with magic by Myrddin himself but Sal still thought that his sword was not garbage!

Vayland brought him to a blacksmith's shop – a shop, that Sal learned a minute later, that belonged to Vayland himself. Sal soon learned that even high born goblins like Vayland were working in professions like smiths or farmers. They were high born but they worked like all the other when they had time to do so.

"So – let's look for a suitable steel for your sword" Vayland said, pulling out a weird formed Amethyst.

"Imbed your magic in there, please" he said. "I will be able to work like that much better."

"Er… all right…" Sal softly pulled inwardly at his magic until he was able to lead it into the stone in the hands of the goblin.

The goblin examined the stone, one eyebrow raised.

"You've got an interesting soul" he finally declared and suddenly grinned. "I will love to craft you some weapons! Oh… where to start?! You need some knives – you're definitely better when fighting with knives – but also a sword! No goblin leader should go without a sword!"

"Er… all right?" Sal said hesitatingly when he heard the enthusiastic goblin rumble.

"Silver… you need definitely goblin silver for your weapons… we will imbed shadows in your knives… and emeralds… maybe… and… yes! That will fit! Rubies for your sword… of course also silver… you're magic is not fit for gold…"

"Er… when you think so…" Sal answered while watching the goblin running through his working place, throwing things left and right – diamonds, sapphires, steel blocks and gold landed on the floor while the goblin searched for who knows what.

"Well – that should be enough" the goblin finally said, his hands full with silver, rubies and emeralds. "We will start with the knives! They will be fantastic!"

And the goblin was right.

Sal watched Vayland while he crafted the knives. There were four of them – two throwing knives and two long knives.

When Sal finally had them in his hands he just stared at them.

Engraved just beneath the hilt of the long knives were the words "Salvazsahar" on the first and "Morganaadth" on the second. The blade of all four knives looked like touchable shadows and the engraving glowed in an unearthly eerie green light that matched Sal's eyes.

"Perfect" Vayland had commended when he handed the knives to Sal. "They are absolutely perfect." Then he had returned to his working place to craft the sword.

When the goblin handed the sword to Sal, Sal recognized it instantly. It wasn't the first time he was holding this sword. Years ago – and at the same time years in the future – he would hold it again. There was just one different: This sword had no inscription beneath its hilt. It was made of silver and rubies and a tiny basilisk and phoenix graced the hilt – but the inscription "Godric Gryffindor" was missing.

Sal stared at the sword.

"A master piece" Vayland said. "And definitely better than the garbage you used to carry. It just needs a name – and then it is ready."

"A name?"

Vayland huffed.

"Of course a name! Every sword needs one! Name it and claim it!"

"Er… I have no idea… I never had to name a sword before…"

"No wonder when you just were wearing garbage. I also wouldn't have named that_ thing_ you were carrying before!" Sal wisely decided not to commend on Vaylands words. Now, since he had the sword in his hands he could understand why Vayland was claiming Sal's sword was garbage. The sword in his hands simply seemed to fit – like an extra limb.

"Well? Will you stare at it until I am old and grey or will you claim it?"

"I never…"

"Just look at the sword and say the first thing that comes to your mind aloud" Vayland answered.

"Er…" Sal still looked at the goblin quizzically, but then returned his gaze to the blade. It glowed in the light of the fire it had come from. And in his mind he saw it coming out of the head like the legend said Excalibur had come out of the stone…

And before Sal could stop himself he said "Excalibur."

Vayland stared at him.

"Exccaliebor" he repeated. "in Gobbledegook that means 'Basilisk-born' – an interesting choice of a name for a sword. A fitting name when you look at the bearer. Basilisk-born – Exccaliebor – it is."

And runes etched itself in the hilt, stating the name. For a moment they glowed and shimmered over the blade itself, then the runes vanished, leaving an unblemished blade and hilt.

And Sal's only thought was: "What have I done now?!"

He would find out years later.

For the next eight years Sal continued to live with the goblins. He learned a lot from them. He learned to fight with his knives. He learned to speak the language and to act like a goblin. He even learned to craft himself because Vayland insisted. And maybe he would have stayed longer, wouldn't have one day travelled news to them.

"The romans have come to Britannia" the messenger said. "There was a battle with King Arthur and his men. They were able to defeat the romans for now but more are coming and the king's sword, the sword of his father that Myrddin had put into the stone until Arthur was old enough to claim it, has been shattered. Arthur is wounded and there are rumors that he will not see another day…"

When the news reached Sal, he turned to Gringooed and Vayland who had become his family at the goblins.

"I have to go home" he told them.

"Home?" Gringooed asked interested and Sal sighed.

"I might have been taught by my mother the way of the LeFay but I have been living with my father before that. I cannot stand by and watch my father die. I am a Healer, I am his son. It is my duty to heal him to the best of my abilities."

And Gringooed smiled.

"You're a good child. Your parents should be proud of you. Return home – but don't forget: You will always have a place to live in our nation. You have a vault in your name, you have a sword that shows your status, you are a clan-leader of the goblins – you have the right to turn to us if you need us."

With that said he let Sal go.

And that was the time, when Sal was first and forever adopted by the goblins.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_Just to your information: Gringooed's name is really the origin of Gringott's. It just changed over time…_

_And yes, Sal has a vault at the goblins._


	17. Chapter 16: 43AD Returning to Camelot

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_**Warning: **__Healing-scene and Battle-scene with description of the wounds._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 43 AD**

**Returning Home To Camelot**

sss

When Salvazsahar finally returned, Arthur was lying on his death bed.

"You're home, Sal!" Lancelot greeted Sal surprised. "Did you hear…? Are you back because of your father Arthur?"

"How is he?" Sal answered in return while shrugging of his travel cloak.

"Dying" Lancelot answered sincerely. "We have kept it from leaking to the public but we will not be able to keep quiet any longer. He will not survive another fortnight."

"Let me see him" Sal said.

"Of course" Lancelot answered and started to lead the way. "You're his son and heir. You have the right to see your father."

Sal was led to where later would be the Headmaster's office and climbed the stairs until he reached the top and the bedchamber of Arthur. It was still strange to enter in a room Sal knew and instead of seeing the expected office, stumbling over a bedchamber.

The bedchamber was richly decorated with gold and red. Sal turned out the Gryffindor-colors of the room and looked at the man in the huge bed in the center of the room.

Arthur was deadly pale.

Next to his bed was sitting Myrddin, also pale and definitely exhausted from sleepless nights. In the corner stood two other men, discussing things in soft voices.

"Atr" Sal greeted his father Myrddin. "How is Arthur?"

"Salvazsahar" he saw the delight in his father's eyes even if they were still mostly haunted and sad. "I am glad that you are home. Arthur will need you to take over his duties until…"

"Don't" Sal interrupted. "Don't say it. Let me look at him. I am here to try to heal him."

"Sal…"

"I am a Healer, atr. I have my oath. Let me take a look at him" Sal interrupted Myrddin before he could say another word. Myrddin looked at him astonished.

"A healer?" he asked. "But…"

"Guardian Healer" Sal corrected and understanding filled his father's eyes. "And now let me take a look."

Myrddin stepped aside and Sal sat down on the edge of the bed. He freed Arthur from his covers and the gauzes that covered his chest.

The wound beneath looked bad.

It was red and swollen and oozing pus – _definitely infected with gangrene, maybe also blood poisoning._

Sal sighed and started to search his girdle for the potions and herbs needed. Then he looked at the room itself.

"The best would be to add a runic circle to the healing" he finally said. One of the men in the corner sneered.

"I don't think you have the experience to decide anything like that, lad!" he said while gritting his teeth.

Sal opened his mouth to retort but was beaten to it by Lancelot.

"Prince, Haraldr" he said coolly. "I will not tolerate disrespect against Arthur's son and heir."

The man, Haraldr turned to Lancelot and then stared at Sal again.

"Prince?!" he repeated. "He is King Arthur's…"

"Son and heir, yes" Lancelot said. "Next time think before you disrespect someone!"

"Sir Lancelot" Sal just stared at the older man. "As important etiquette is – that's not the time and place to discuss it."

"Of course, my Prince" Lancelot answered, slightly bowing to Sal. Sal just sighed. The older man had begun to act like that in front of foreigners since Sal had been adopted by Arthur.

So instead to try and stop Lancelot from behaving formal, he turned to Haraldr.

"You're a healer, I suspect?" he asked softly.

"I am, my Prince" the man answered. "We both are. We have tended to your father since he has been wounded. There is nothing that could rescue his life anymore. Please accept our judgement."

"I am a healer myself, Healer Haraldr" Sal answered. "These wounds might be grave and maybe beyond my healing abilities – but there is still a chance for my father to heal again. It's a bit of a risk but it cannot get worse then it actually is."

"You might be a healer, my Prince, but you are young. You have no experience…"

"The Great battle of the North Fields" Sal interrupted the man. The healer stared at him.

"Why are you stating a battle between our neightbour druid kingdom and the goblins which took place eight years ago, my Prince?" the healer asked confused.

"Do you know how many goblins died that day?"

The man snorted.

"Inexplicable few. They must have had a wonder healer as their lead-healer that day."

Sal smirked.

"The lead-healer was me" he said. Lancelot, Myrddin and both of the healers stared at him astonished. "So please don't tell me I do not have enough experience to judge, Healer Haraldr."

"But… but still…"

"I will try to heal him my way" Sal interrupted the stammered words of the second healer. "It cannot get worse. Why not trying my way? Afterall_ I_ have proven that I am able to do the nearly impossible – where is your prove, gentlemen?"

Both of the healers spluttered but then bowed their heads.

"As you wish, my Prince" Haraldr said. "But we will leave before. We do not want to be judged when the king dies."

Sal just shrugged.

"Then leave now" he answered absentmindedly. "I have other things to do. Sir Lancelot – I need apples, clean earth and rosemary. This should be able to strengthen my runic work."

"As you wish, my Prince" Lancelot answered and left the room to tell a servant to fetch what Sal wanted. The two healers also left the room behind him. Myrddin instead stayed.

"Are you sure, son?" he asked softly.

Sal inclined his head.

"It might go wrong – but I am quite sure that there is a high chance that I will be able to heal him."

Myrddin nodded and then asked "Should I leave the room?"

"Not needed. When you leave the corner of the bed it will be enough" Sal answered. In that moment Lancelot returned and Sal started with his runic circle. He saw his father's eyebrows rising when the circle started to take forms under the constant working of Sal's staff.

"I have never seen a circle like that before" Myrddin whispered, but Sal heard him nevertheless and shrugged.

"I thought it up when I saw how bad the wound is that Arthur maintained."

Myrddin stared at him in surprise.

"You thought it up? So that's nothing you have learned somewhere while you…"

"It's a combination of some circles I know" Sal answered. "It should aid me quite well."

And then he took out one of his knives and started to hack the apples until they were nothing more then mash. He added the rosemary and the earth and started to cover the outer line of his runic circle in it.

"A protection against the evil" Myrddin said, understanding in his voice. "A way to strengthen the runic circle against the infection in the wound. I would never have thought to do something like that."

Sal let his father ramble and activated instead the circle with some hisses in Parseltongue.

"_Aid me in my task_" he hissed. "_Heal. Protect. Destroy what wants to destroy a life_."

The circle glowed and activated.

Then Sal turned to the wounded and unconscious Arthur and took the knife he had had used to prepare the apple and rosemary. He took the knife and opened the wound with it without cleansing it before. Apple and rosemary filled the wound and the magic of the circle reacted and hissed. Were apple and rosemary touched the wound, the gangrene started to leave it even faster than it would have without the magical cleansing.

But some parts were too deeply infected and the magical cleansing did not work on them. Sal gritted his teeth and then sliced them away with his knife. It was gruesome and took some time but finally the wound was clean, but bloody. The blood was flowing freely again and Sal knew that it would be deadly to let it flow.

And there was just one way to stop it.

"I am sorry, father" he said to Arthur, then took one of the potions and made Arthur swallow it. It was the Draught of Living Death – it guaranteed that Arthur would stay asleep for the whole ordeal.

Then he took his knife again. A flame erupted in his left hand and the knife was heated in it. When it finally was hot enough, Sal turned to Arthur and pressed the knife on the wound.

It hissed and stank when the flesh burned but the blood flow stopped.

"What…!" Lancelot asked with huge eyes.

"I needed to stop the blood flow" Sal answered. "The most effective way was to cauterize it."

Then he looked at the wound again. It looked better. Not healed fully but definitely better than before. Sal sighed and then added runes in Arthur's blood on Arthur's wrists, forehead and ankles. After that he crushed some herbs and added them on the wound before he added a few different runes in blood on Arthur's chest where beneath was beating the heart.

"What are you doing?" Lancelot asked whispering.

"Blood cleansing" Sal answered. "Not easy but Arthur's best chance to survive."

And with that he started chanting.

While he chanted, he used another potion to rub it on Arthur's bare chest. And finally, after a time that felt like eternity, dark mist began to rise from Arthur's chest. As soon as the dark mist came in contact with the circle, it vanished with a hiss.

When the last of the dark mist left Arthur's body, the body began to glow an eerie yellow light and Sal stopped chanting after the last of the mist vanished.

Sal trembled, he felt utterly exhausted and his body was covered in sweat. But he had not finished healing yet, so he returned to his task with the same iron will that had aided him in every other thing he had accomplished so far.

In that moment Sal wished he hadn't aged himself again so that he fit with the age he officially was on Arthur's court. Changing his age was a magically straining act – healing a wound like Arthur's afterwards was definitely not really easy. But Sal had to age himself. He would have been unable to explain how he had gotten younger again if he had turned up without aging himself beforehand.

Then Sal turned away from his thoughts and turned to Arthur's healing instead. He took another potion and started to rub it on wrists, forehead, ankles and chest – at the exact spots where the runes had been before.

After that he added another potion on the wound and finally covered it in gauze again. Then he made Arthur swallow some more potions before finally destroying the outer circle containing of the apple-rosemary-earth mash.

"Now we will have to wait how he will take this" Sal said tiredly and stood up swaying.

"You're exhausted" Myrddin said.

"I am" Sal answered, rubbing his eyes. "Would one of you stay with him? I want to know if his condition worsens."

"When it doesn't – when will he wake up?" Lancelot asked, looking at Sal as if he saw him the first time.

"In two or three weeks" Sal answered honestly. "The Draught of Living Death was enough to let him stay asleep for two weeks – but there is no guarantee that he will not take longer to wake up."

"When it takes so long to wake up from it – why giving it to him at all?" Myrddin asked.

Sal sighed.

"He needs to heal. When he would wake up and feel better he would want to stand up. He cannot. Also the agony of the healing I did would have driven the strongest man insane – I would not have risk this method without the draught."

Myrddin nodded thoughtfully.

"I will accompany you" he finally said. "I would worry that you did not make it to your chamber when I wouldn't. You're after all nearly asleep on your feet." And that he did. Sal made it to his bedchamber. He also made it to his bed – but he just fell down on it without changing out of his clothes and fell asleep before his head even met the pillow.

Myrddin sighed and carefully changed his son in some clothes that were more comfortable for sleeping. Then he bowed down and kissed the boy on his temple.

"You're a miracle, child" he whispered. "One day you will have an impact the whole druidic world. I am just sorry that I will never be able to see it." And with that he left his son and returned to Arthur's bedchamber. He was sure that the king would survive. Sal had proven that he would not let his second father die and Sal had the will to lead Arthur back to the land of living…

And he did. Arthur healed while Sal played his role and ruled over the people. And when Arthur was finally well enough, Sal returned the throne to his father.

"Well, I have my seat back – now I just need a new sword and everything is fine" Arthur joked when he sat down for the first time. Sal just shrugged, opened his girdle and freed the shed of his own sword from it.

"You can take that one" he said. "As my father you have the right to carry it if you want."

Arthur just stared at the sword, then he took it hesitatingly and drew it.

"A magnificent blade" he said softly. Sal shrugged.

"It was made for me by the goblins" he answered.

"Then I cannot take it" Arthur said. "It is yours to carry."

"I carried it for the last eight years" Sal said. "It's time that it sees the hands of a real swordsman."

"You are a real swordsman, son" Arthur said. Sal just snorted.

"I am a knife-fighter, father. I have never been a swordsman. I may know how to fight with a sword –but that does not make me a swordsman. I would stand no chance against you or Lancelot."

"You are young…"

"I am furthermost not good with a sword" Sal said softly. "I will never be as good as some others and you will have to accept that like I accepted it a long time ago."

Arthur just sighed.

"I know" he finally said. "But still…"

Sal just closed his second father's hand around the hilt. "Just take it" he said. "You're my father – you have the right to carry Exccaliebor."

"Excalibur – free from the stone?"

Sal snorted. "It's not Latin, father" he said.

"It sounds like Latin for 'Free from the stone'" Arthur said. "What do you mean with 'Excalibur'?"

"Exccaliebor, my sword" Sal corrected. Arthur stared at him for another minute, then he nodded and took it.

"Thank you, my son" he said softly. Sal just shrugged.

"You are my father. You are the king. You have the right for a good sword – and a goblin made is better than every other sword."

After that he left the Great Hall. Arthur instead took the sword and soon the legend of the sword from the stone – Excalibur – started to fester in the minds of the public. Later it would be an important part of Arthur's legend.

"Will you stay?" Myrddin had followed Sal after he had left the Great Hall.

Sal stopped. He did not turn but stared the way he had been heeding. He knew Myrddin was a very old man. He would not last much longer. Sal could see death lurking in the shadows, watching his father Myrddin.

"I will stay" he finally answered softly. "I would not leave you if you ask me to stay."

"You do not have to stay. I know you are searching for a way back home in the future" Myrddin said softly.

Sal turned and looked at his father.

"You're my father, atr" he told the old man. "I love you. I would never go searching for a way home when you need me. Don't forget: I have a life in both times – but you will not have me anymore when I return to where I came from."

This time the old man sighed.

"I do not want to stop you, Sal" he said.

"You don't" Sal answered. "I have time to go home. I will stay as long as you need me."

And with that said, Sal stayed.

He stayed at his fathers' sides when the kingdom had a time of peace and he stayed even then when war returned to them.

He stayed when sixty A.D. the Romans entered Britain and started to conquer not only the mundane but also the magical part of the island – not, that there was a great different between those two at that time…

He stayed, when Medrawd came to their father to demand his rightful place at Arthur's side and he also stayed when Arthur refused to acknowledge Medrawd as his son and heir.

"Why didn't you?" was the only thing Sal wanted to know after Medrawd had stormed out on them.

"Because he might be my son – but he definitely isn't my heir" Arthur answered softly.

"But…"

"You are my heir. You are my eldest son. Even if Medrawd would have inherit my magic – he still wouldn't have been my heir…"

"Would have…?"

"He hasn't" Arthur answered shrugging. "I saw it as soon as he started to demand his rightful place. He cares furthermost for himself – he does not care enough for others to have my magic. Of course, if he would have had it or if he wouldn't have demanded his place, I would have given him a place in my home. He is of my blood after all – even if I never married his mother."

"I don't think he understood why he was rejected" Sal said sincerely. He knew his brother. He knew that Medrawd would hold a grudge against Arthur for rejecting him.

"I told him I would welcome him when he stopped to demand things I am not obligated to give him" Arthur answered softly. "If he can't understand something like that, then he has no place in my court."

Not a moon circle later Medrawd returned with the Romans and the intent to destroy everything his father had built.

And while Sal accompanied the druids to defend the fleeing villagers and the village and castle they were hiding in, Arthur and Medrawd started to fight each other.

When Sal saw that they were losing he did the only thing he could. As the son of Arthur and Myrddin, the ward holders of Camelot, he also had access to the wards. So he reached for them and forced them to hide Camelot and the village near-by where the villagers were hiding in, hoping to survive and hoping to not being found by the Romans.

Sal felt his father Myrddin doing the same – aiding him in his quest to vanish the village that once would be called Hogsmeade and the castle from view.

It was a sword from behind that finally penetrated the armour Sal was wearing. He had been fighting for hours and hours. His magic had been weak because he still was protecting Camelot and the women, children and old people with it.

He was fighting a roman priest at that time – a roman druid. The roman was a battle mage and he definitely was the better fighter… especially because Sal could and would not let go of the protection that shielded Camelot from the sight of the invaders.

Sal had a hard time battling the priest. But he still was fighting well. He was a knife-fighter and the battle mage had problems to react in time for Sal's fast fingers. And maybe Sal would have succeeded in this fight – even if he was unable to do a lot of magic at that time, wouldn't have entered another sword the battle…

The sword that finally penetrated his armour and showed its cool steely blade to his eyes, sticking out of his chest, was from another priest who had entered the fight while Sal had dodged the curses of the other frantically.

Sal just stared at the steel that adorned his chest. Steel that was red with blood. His blood.

Then the steel vanished and Sal fell.

He could not breathe. He could not hear his heart beat anymore.

"My heart" he thought while the world darkened. "He pierced my heart…"

"Pathetic" a voice said in Latin with distaste, standing over him.

"Don't" another one said in the same language. "He has done nothing that would give you the right to disrespect him in death."

"He was pathetic! I could kill him with a single stroke with my sword!"

A hand softly caressed Sal's traditionally braided hair.

"He was a strong one. His magic is still filling the air. Whatever he was hiding from us – he succeeded in his quest. We will not find it even if we would return years after his death."

"But…"

"A sacrifice" the other one said softly. "He sacrificed himself for hiding whatever he wanted us not to find. He would have killed me and you if he wouldn't have tried to hide whatever it was…"

Something was pressed in Sal's unmoving hands.

"For a save journey, my foe" the soft voice said. "You have earned yourself this last rite. May your soul not be lost on its way home."

The darkness finally took him and his last ragged breath stilled. Then the conscious that was called Sal was no more…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for now. I hope you like it…_

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	18. Chapter 17: Way To Go, Minister Fudge

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Way To Go, Minister Fudge**

sss

The article that was printed by the _Daily Prophet _the following day was astonishing. Harry was sitting on his bed, reading his newspaper calmly.

"… The trail of the Boy-Who-Lived was held in front of the Wizengamot because of the gravity of his offence…" Harry read to himself.

"…'The boy is guilty, there was no arguing about that fact. Everybody knew. The trail itself was just a formality' said Minister Cornelius Fudge…"

"… At the end it was a formal error that got the Boy-Who-Lived off the hook…"

When Harry finished the front page headliner article he snorted.

"So you're trying to legalize your actions on that way, Minister" he finally said to himself. "Way to go. You really should not start the next round of our game without even looking at your opponent…"

"Talking to yourself again, Harry?" another voice interrupted. Harry blinked and looked up.

"Shouldn't you stay hidden, Reg? It's the middle of the day."

"Hardly" Reg snorted while looking pointedly at a snoring Ron in the bed next to Harry. "It's six thirty in the morning. Only you would be awake this early."

Harry shrugged.

"The sun's out" he countered. "There is no way I could sleep at a time like that."

Reg snorted.

"Yeah, but you're not normal" he said while shaking his head in disbelief. "If I would not know you for at least ten years now I would think you are absolutely crazy just for opening an eye at that early hour."

"So you don't think I'm crazy because you know me?"

"No – I _know_ you're crazy. I do not have to _think_ it anymore."

"Very funny, ha ha."

Reg did not counter that one, instead he sat done next to Harry and looked at the newspaper in Harry's hands.

"What will you do against…?"

"Nothing much for now" Harry answered. "I am not ready to show my cards openly. There's still way too much to do until I am."

"You should have started earlier…"

"I could not" Harry answered sincerely.

"But… ten years ago…"

"Was not a real Horcrux" Harry answered softly. Reg's eyes widened. All the years he had thought…

"What… what was it?"

"When Riddle came to the Potters that night…" Harry started softly. "He was still missing a Horcrux to his perfection. He wanted to have seven pieces – at that time he had six. The last one… that one that now is imbedded in his snake… he wanted to make it with Harry Potter's death – to emphasise his power. Riddle is arrogant. The death of Harry Potter should have been his absolute triumph above death. The day of his absolute victory…"

"I still don't understand…"

"A Horcrux is fool magic. You cannot make a Horcrux by simply killing someone. You make it by doing a lot of rituals beforehand and then channelling your longing for eternity in the time of your victim's death" Harry answered sighing.

"That sounds as if you know how to create one" Regulus said frowning.

Harry just shrugged.

"I know how to do it" he answered unconcerned. "I learned it a long time ago."

"But…"

"You know that you have to have knowledge about something to be able to create a ritual to destroy something" Harry remarked and rolled his eyes. "Anyway… the artefact we destroyed ten years ago was the artefact Riddle wanted to use at that time to create his Horcrux…"

"But why…?"

"Because the magic of a Horcrux begins way before the ultimate killing. He still could have used this artefact to create a new Horcrux. It was prepared. I doubt he would have used it – but I also was not willing to take the risk" Harry answered sincerely.

"So we destroyed it."

"Yes."

"Well – I understand your reason" Reg finally said sighing. "But I still do not understand why we waited…"

"…Because we had to, to be sure" Harry interrupted.

"Had to? Had to be sure about what?"

Harry snorted.

"You sound like a parrot today, Reg" he said amused. "I waited so long to be sure Riddle's last ties with his Horcruxes really were cut. Except of the dairy there is no way telling when Riddle created his Horcruxes. It takes some time until the split soul parts are not able to feel each other. The safest bet was to wait until Riddle lost and regained his body – which he finally did at the beginning of the summer."

"Wouldn't it have been safer to destroy them while Riddle had no body…?"

"No" Harry answered. "A wraith has a better connection to other spirits. The Horcrux has to be on its own for a long time until it cannot be felt by a wraith anymore. The only Horcrux that I know is old enough for something like that is the diary. Maybe there is another… but I dared not to risk it until Riddle regained his body and with it lost the connection with his other soul parts he had as a wraith."

"Well – thanks for the lecture. I am certain I know enough about it now" Reg said snorting. "I even know more than I ever wanted…"

"Don't sulk. Knowledge is power and you know it."

"How Slytherin of you, Harry. You know you are supposed to be a Gryffindor" Reg retorted. Harry just shrugged.

"Ron's still sleeping and the others are downstairs. There is no-one in the room who would feel horror-stricken about it" Harry said while shrugging again. "So why bother to hide my true self from you? You know I am no Gryffindor material. I know I am no Gryffindor material. Even if I stay silent – this truth will not change."

"Definitely not."

"And now be a good boy and go back hiding. You do not want to be found by your brother, do you? It would be hard to explain how you are still alive after all…"

"Believe me – there are a lot of things harder to explain than that" Regulus said shrugging but he complied and left the room.

Harry smiled but said nothing. He knew that Regulus was right… but he also knew that telling Sirius that Regulus was still alive and well would be a hard task if they ever had to do it…

"Well… there are other things to worry about" Harry finally said to himself. "What to do next… what to do next…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Xenophilius Lovegood sat down at ten in the morning at his breakfast table he still was thinking what to put first in his next edition of _The Quibbler._ He was still contemplating between the article about Nibblers and their breeding and the article about Cackling Cracklers.

Both, of course, were important articles – and they both deserved to be treated that way… but what to choose… what to choose?

He wasn't anywhere near the answer to this important question when the owl post arrived. Well, at least he wasn't near it until he saw an innocent looking envelope between his normal mail.

Xeno raised an eyebrow. The last Muggle-looking envelope he had received had been a few weeks ago by proxy. Rebecca Amorin of the _Daily Prophet _had somehow lost it in Xeno's study at that time…

"Well… let's look at this" Xeno decided and opened the envelope to pull out a letter. He read it and his eyebrows shot in the air.

It seemed as if he had to change some of his plans for the next edition of _The Quibbler…_

So instead of pondering which article to use for his next edition, Xeno Lovegood hurriedly stood up in search of quill and parchment. He spilled his coffee when he sat it down on the table but did not even look or mourn the loss of his favorite beverage.

He had other things to do after all…

Ten minutes later he finally had found an intact quill and enough parchment to take some notes for a first try in answering the letter.

He returned to the table and vanished the mess he had created when setting down his coffee mug – not even noticing when he not only vanished the coffee but also the mug as well.

"So… what to write" he pondered instead, excitement in his eyes. "What to write…?!"

His eyes returned to the letter, reading it again, this time slowly and carefully while his right had travelled over the parchment, printing down answers and questions of his own.

_Dear Editor, _the letter read,

_Thank you for answering my questions as good as you have been able to. I do understand the mechanism of the press a little better now._

_But there are still other things I do not get._

_The day before yesterday the _Daily Prophet_ has been printing an article about Harry Potter's trial and stated in it, that there has been a formality which prevented that Mr. Potter has been judged._

_Well, when I read this, I got hooked and decided to research myself. So I asked at the Ministry for a copy of the court script – did you know those are public after a trial?! – and read it._

_The content of the script made me wonder again if the _Daily Prophet_ is simply a propaganda campaign for the Ministry._

_How come, they can call it a "formality" that prevented Mr. Potter be tried, when in truth the Minister seems to try all to prevent to even have a fair trial at the beginning?!_

_If it would have been me, my parents would have sued him for withholding evidence!_

_The trial script clearly states that the Minister did not do the minimum to hold up our own laws. _

_Did you know that there is a law that the crime scene has to be visited by Aurors and evidence against the accused has to be found? Without evidence the accused cannot be judged._

_That the Minister let something crucial as that slide lets me think about all the other prisoners in Azkaban. What is with them? Had they had a fair trial? Have they been able to contact a lawyer? Have they had evidence against them to prove their guilt? Or have they been judged like Potter nearly would have been judged: without evidence, just by hear-say?_

_A trial like Mr. Potter's even raises the question about Mr. Sirius Black's guilt. How do you know if Mr. Black really was guilty, when the trial was faulty like Mr. Potter's? I would seriously check this trial also, like all the others since Grindelwald. I don't know how you feel, but I would sleep better, knowing that the persons in Azkaban really belong there and knowing that I will not be sentenced to Azkaban without a proper trial._

_Think about that yourself: Do you want to have a trial knowing that you cannot defend yourself because someone is withholding information necessary to prove your innocent? _

_Do you want to be in Azkaban for decades, knowing you're innocent but unable to prove it because someone did not even permit you to take Veritasserum or show your memory?_

_Is this the justice of the wizarding world you are hoping for?_

_After all we cannot all be a Harry Potter who seems to have eaten the law-books for breakfast…_

_I did include a copy of Harry Potter__'s__ trial script to show my point._

_Oliver Twist._

After that, the court script had been added to verify Oliver Twist's words. Xenophilus Lovegood grinned. As important as Nibblers and their breeding and Cackling Cracklers were – sometimes important articles had to take the second place for something less important but more informing…

Now he just had to ponder which of the other two articles he also would add as the next important ones…

But this answer could wait – anyhow, there was an answer to write. There was no way that Xeno Lovegood would let a student's questions unanswered, after all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Diagon Alley normally was an idyllic place. The people who lived there knew their neighbours often better than they knew themselves and secrets really did not stay secret very long.

As it was, it was an absolutely surprise for the inhabitants of Diagon Alley that they suddenly seemed to not understand one of their own anymore.

Ollivander had finally gone insane.

First it had not been spotted. He just had changed his usual habit a bit. Instead of staying in his shop all day Ollivander had gone outside and had sat down in front of his entrance, in his hands a huge book.

"Not this one… this isn't it also" he was heard muttering while leafing through the book. "It has to be an ancient one…"

Two days later he had exchanged the book for very, very old scrolls.

Three days later he finally sat down one of the scrolls, a huge smile on his lips.

"There it is!" he said and then picked up the scroll to read further – just to pale more and more the more he read what was written on the scroll.

That was the final time the people in Diagon Alley had seen him sane.

After that, well…

Ollivander definitely had lost his mind that particular week – and he had not found it again, even all those weeks later…

A few weeks previous – after the visit of one particular wizard – it had suddenly happened. Garrick Ollivander had snapped. Like an old, dry branch he had snapped into two when the pressure was suddenly too much for him to handle, or so the inhabitants of Diagon Alley said.

One day, Garrick Ollivander had minded his shop like usual and the next he suddenly had started to… well, to clean would be the right word. There was just one problem involved: Never had people ever seen Ollivander clean his shop as thoroughly as he did after that day.

"What are you doing, Garrick?" Florian Fortunescue finally asked after watching the wizard working for the last few weeks.

"Preparing" Ollivander answered without looking up while carrying out boxes of stuff and vanishing them on the streets or tucking them away in other, expanded boxes.

"I see that – but why?"

"I have to empty my basement" Ollivander answered without looking up. "And I just have half a year at most to do it. I have to be prepared until Christmas."

"Prepared? Prepared for what?!°

"For what might happen" Ollivander said. "I am no fool. I have seen this staff once at the time of Grindelwald. Father also has seen the staff when it was time to bring down Lord Morgan – even if it was Grandfather who made that bargain that day…"

"Bargain? What are you talking about, Garrick?!" Fortunescue asked again and this time the slightly strange and now utterly insane wand-maker looked up in Fortunescue's eyes.

"I have gotten a warning. Uncertain times lay ahead of us. I will have to be prepared for the worst and hope for the best. I have seen the staff of destiny" Ollivander answered and Fortunescue gave up.

The man had definitely snapped.

_Utterly insane. _

_Absolutely crazy. _

_Disturbingly mad._

_Yes, that was Garrick Ollivander now…_

But, so guessed Fortunescue. That was okay. Ollivander was after all quite old – if he wanted to get odd quirks, who was Fortunescue to stop him?!

As long as the man still produced his superb wands he could be crazy for all Fortunescue cared.

"Well, then have fun preparing" Forunescue finally said, turning away from the man. "I hope your staff of destiny will come again to tell you the danger has passed someday…"

Ollivander just sighted.

"You don't understand" he said.

"I am sure it somehow makes sense to you" Fortunescue offered.

Ollivander just sighted again.

"Think of me what you want. You will be grateful long before the end" he replied the ice cream shop owner. "You will see."

And with that he turned away for the disturbed man and returned to his work.

He had to clean his basement and he had to activate the old, dormant wards on his property. After all what good would it do to have wards as good as Gringotts and Hogwarts when he did not activate them before the storm?

And then there were the other preparations. The food, the linen…

Suddenly Ollivander wished he had never seen Harry Potter again…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	19. Chapter 18: Creating Havoc

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Creating Havoc**

sss

Amelia Bones was searching through hundredth of files. Her whole office was full with them. Some of them had been read by her and discarded, others were still waiting to be read. She grumbled.

Nothing.

Three days of search in the archives and nothing. Not even a trace of a trail…

Again, Amelia growled and for a moment her eyes turned to the newspaper on her desk. The newspaper had been published three days ago.

Now, it was nearly buried beneath files. Just the second part of the offending article that had started Amelia's fanatic search through the ministry files was still in the open. It read:

_sSs_

_Dear Mr. Twist,_

_I must tell you, you have been shocking me. I – like maybe a lot of other witches and wizards – was not aware about the law that states that evidence has to be found first. I had to look up my rights myself before I even could think of answering your questions._

_It is truly a shame that there is no class in Hogwarts that tells the students their rights in society. I cannot even understand after I researched it why I never tried to be aware of my own rights until now – the only thing I can come up with is that there is no one who knows their rights and as such no one criticizes one if you yourself don't know…_

_As it is, I do think many other witches and wizards do know nothing about their own rights – like myself just a few days ago – and think because of that everything the Ministry states, is true. Now I suddenly start to doubt it myself._

_I, of course, have never been in front of the Wizengamot to be tried. What if it is normal procedure to not even try to secure if you are guilty?!_

_So I, like every intelligent citizen would do, decided to look up other trials just to secure for myself that the Wizengamot normally is a fair institution._

_Of course, the first name that came to my mind to look up was, like you have also mentioned, the mass murderer Sirius Black. He is after all the most known criminal in this day and age after his escape from Azkaban two years ago._

_So I went to the ministry to look up his court script as well._

_I was truly agitated when I finally was able to receive an answer to my question about the court script of Sirius Black. While getting the court script of Mr Potter just took me a few minutes, getting Black's took hours – and at the end I still left with empty hands and just a sentence wiser._

"_There is no court script of Sirius Black's trial" I have been told. "As there was no trial to begin with."_

_Horrifying news, I know. I was shocked as well. So I looked up other trials._

_My results are frightening and it pains me to say this: You are quite right, Mr. Twist, to worry. The most of the trial I looked into where held with just one witness to attest for their crimes. No Veritasserum. No shared memories. Just the plain word of one witness to sentence a person to a life of horror in Askaban…_

_And to send a person to Askaban – even someone whose crime is as famous as Mr. Black's – without a trial is truly appalling! I do not dare to think how many others whose trial I did not look into were tried with no evidence except of hear-say or put in prison without a trial._

_The most horrible part in it, my dear Mr. Twist, is that as it stands it could happen to anyone. Every witch or wizard who is just near a crime scene could be accused and tried without being able to prevent it._

_And they are not like Mr. Potter who is a famous light figure in our world – and who seems to know the law book like his own robe pocket. _

_Sadly it still stands, that the Ministry has the full control about who is tried with how much evidence._

_So do hope that you will never be part in an investigation. You could wake up in Askaban just because you bought your milk at the wrong place to the wrong time._

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Editor of _The Quibbler

sSs

Amelia growled again. This _could_ not be true! Could it? She sighed and returned to her search. She simply _had_ to find those dammed papers about Sirius Black! Something like the papers about his imprisonment… or the interrogation by the Aurors…

Until now she had found nothing. Nothing at all and it worried her more than every other thing she had discovered in the years in the ministry…

Her eyes turned again to the files in her hands and with another grumble she returned to her search.

_Why, oh why had there been so many Blacks?!_

Amelia was sure that at the end of the day she would have learned to hate the name 'Black'.

"I hope this search is worth it" she sighed.

And when there truly was no evidence of anything about Sirius Black that would make his imprisonment legal – Amelia knew she would go to hell and back to ensure that the right thing was done in the end…

Even if she had to destroy the ministry stone by stone to reach her goal…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Barnabas Cuffe sat at his table in the office of the _Daily Prophet_ and was sorting articles when someone knocked on his door.

"Come in!"

The door opened and a woman Barnabas had not seen since she had lost a letter to the _Daily Prophet _in Ottery St. Catchpole entered.

"Ah! Becky!" he greeted her happily. Rebecca Amorin gritted her teeth.

"It's Rebecca, Boss" she said stiffly.

"I know, I know, Becky, my dear" Barnabas said, still smiling. "So, my girl. What brings you to my humble office in the first place?"

The woman in the door stared at him as if he had lost his mind in the dumpster next door and then entered fully and closed the door behind her.

"Have you read the newest article in _The Quibbler,_ Boss?" she asked.

"Which one? This interesting one about the Blue striped unicorns in America or the amazing description of the mating habits of Nargles?" Barnabas returned grinning.

Rebecca Amorin snorted.

"Neither and you know it, Boss."

Barnabas sighed at her words and stopped joking.

"I have" he simply said.

"And?"

"Nothing" he answered. "We gave away the first letter for a reason."

"But… we cannot do nothing! We are a newspaper! If this is true than it would be the most interesting story since…"

"No."

"So… you will just sit there, look out your window and pretend the article in _The Quibbler _does not exist?!"

"There is nothing I can do, Becky."

This time the woman growled.

"We. Are. A. Newspaper! We cannot do nothing!"

"So what do you want me to do?!" Barnabas hissed. "Should I just publish the article without caring what the ministry says?! They will punish us severly if I do. We need its aid. It has the most influence on our newspaper and we cannot simply turn away from them!"

"Then try to get others in our boat!"

"Of course. Let me write to the Malfoires and tell them: 'Hey, I don't know if you know but the English part of your family is using us to imprint their views in the rest of the population. Would you please talk to them and stop them?!' That's insa…"

"Genius" Rebecca interrupted.

"Excuse me?!"

"That's genius! You told me yourself that the French part of the Malfoy family have a large percentage of holdings! They _can_ change everything!"

"You forget that they're Malfoys…"

"Then we just tell them that Lucius Malfoy declared himself the Lord of Malfoy. They will not be pleased. The Malfoys are after all a part of their family and should by all means not have a lord on its own. They definitely will not follow a part of their family that has acted without their lord's conscience."

"Maybe Lucius Malfoy is allowed to act for the lord in Britain" Barnabas said.

"Maybe. But if he isn't…"

"Becky…"

"Try it" the witch said. "If it goes wrong and the ministry is charging you, tell them it was me. I will take the fall if I must."

"But…" Barnabas stopped when he saw the glind in her eyes.

"Very well, I will" he finally said. "But don't get your hopes up, my dear…"

The answer was a smile before the witch left him so that he could write the letter.

Barnabas just sighed after the door closed. He had never considered…

"Well" he finally said, mentally saying good-bye to his job, office and freedom. "Even if it bites me in the ass – Becky's right. I have done nothing for too long…"

And Barnabas would take the fall if it went wrong. There was no way he would destroy Becky's carrier for something simple like a letter…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Albus Dumbledore meanwhile sat in his chair in the headmaster's office and stared at the article of Oliver Twist in _The Quibbler._

He sighed.

Sixteen years of careful laid plans – and now a simple article could destroy them if it found its way in the wrong hands…

"Fudge would never let something like that be published in the _Daily Prophet"_ Albus reminded himself. "There is no way for the article to create huge impact…"

But just its existence was troubling.

Albus Dumbledore sighed again. It was not really the content of the article that troubled him – not that he liked the prospect of a free Sirius Black – but the questions that had been asked. When this Oliver Twist would not stop soon…

Albus did not want to think about the consequences of a child criticizing their society. Of course there were many people that would not be pleased – but the words of a child, a teenage boy would lead to questions by the people themselves – and that someone, even if it was someone like Xeno Lovegood, did not fault the child for its views… troubling, indeed.

And then there was Sirius and Harry…

The article had not simply printed the letters. No, it had also printed the trial scripted itself – or parts of it, anyway. Albus was sure that there would be some interested ones that would hurry to the ministry to get a trial script themselves…

Normally, this would not have bothered Albus. But the trial had shown a Harry Potter Albus Dumbledore did not like to be known. Until now Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter had been seen as two parts of the same side. But now…

Now, Albus Dumbledore had done nothing to help his pupil to get of… It had been all Harry Potter himself. It showed independence on Harry's side and also an unwillingness to let Albus protect him. No, Albus did not like it one bit…

"And if I am right and it's truly Voldemort who is using Harry…" now, this impact Albus did not even dare to think about. No, he knew what to do. Somehow… somehow he had to stop this Oliver Twist fellow before he could create havoc in the wizarding world…

Now to the next problem: How to stop a phantom like Twist?!

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	20. Chapter 19: Until 307AD The Egg's Egg

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Until Year 307 AD**

**The Egg's Egg**

sss

The first time, Sal awoke, the pain claimed him instantly again and he lost conscious before becoming aware of anything.

The next time he awoke, he had time to recognize, that he was hurting badly before he fell in darkness again. The time after that he was able to curse that he was a time-traveller and that his father had been right with his theory about Sal being unable to die until he returned to his own time.

The third time he lay on the ground for hours until darkness claimed him again. The fourth time he woke, he still was unable to move, but he was able to wish. And wishing he did.

The pain he felt while he was lying on the ground was horrible. After some hours lying there he wished for someone to end his misery. After some days he prayed for death wholeheartedly. After a week he would have seen his dead body in the Mirror of Erised when he would have looked in it.

His whole body arched and his depleted magic tried to heal him. He did not know how often he nearly visited the realms of the death – just to be pulled back to his body and his agony again.

When he finally was able to move again, the battlefield was long since deserted. The Romans had simply let the dead lying on the floor and had travelled on.

The first thing Sal did, when he was able to move again, was to look at his hand. The Roman had gifted him a silver coin. It took one or two seconds until Sal understood that it was meant as a fee for crossing over to death. A gesture for respect.

Sal tucked the coin away in his girdle and felt for the rest of his stuff – mainly his staff, his weapons and potions.

No one had robbed him. His things were still all there – but Sal guessed that he had not been robbed out of the same respect that had earned him the coin to cross over. He felt grateful to that one Roman who had respected him enough for stopping his comrades – not that anyone of them could have taken his weapons. His weapons were goblin made. If he really needed them or if he wished it, they would return to him instantly.

It still took Sal some days until he was able to stand up again. So as soon as Sal was able to stand again he gathered the bodies of the dead and buried them.

It was hart.

The first dead he recognized was Gawain, his old teacher. The man had been pierced with a dozen of arrows. One of his feet had been cut off and his eyes were glassily staring in the sky. The Roman he had fought with had succumbed his own wounds and lay on Gawain's chest like a lover at night would do.

The next he found was Lancelot. The blade of the sword that had killed him was still sticking in his chest – broken like Lancelot himself. Sal had to fight tears while his mind played over and over the times when Lancelot had been with him. It replayed Lancelot's laughter, his jokes, his rashness, his friendly tone…

Sal fought the feelings with his Occlumency and buried the man at the far end of Hogwarts', no, Camelot's lake, next to Gawain. Then he continued.

Sal wasn't sure how many days it took until he found the next he knew. The magic in the air had stopped the dead from rotting, so when he found Arthur and Medrawd they still looked like they had in life.

This time Sal cried while his hands caressed the locks of his brother and father and the fury send shivers through his body. He took away the sword he had given to his father and bound it again to his girdle, unable to look at the wound that had killed Medrawd – a wound that had been made by Sal's sword. The wound Arthur had received was as hard to look at as Medrawd's. This wound Arthur had received because Sal had trained his brother in fighting…

And Sal felt fury – a fury directed at both of them for using Sal's gifts to destroy a person Sal had loved. A fury that was directed at both of them because they had decided not to bother and talk about it. Instead they had fought and killed each other – for nothing more than power. Oh, how Sal loathed them for it!

Still, he buried them next to each other. Next to Lancelot and Gawain. Then he broke down and cried again while anger filled his heart. Anger at fate, anger at the Romans, anger at his fathers and brother…

Finally, after hours he stood up and stumbled back to his task. He buried the dead. Hundredth of men in hundredth of graves. And then he found the last one. This one person he had known, that he had lost since the day he had become aware again – and at the same time had hoped to find unharmed even now.

He was lying there as if he was sleeping. His eyes were closed and his staff in his hands. There was no wound on his body, that would have killed him but magic needed no wound to kill someone.

Sal just could stand there and stare at him. Then he finally fell down on his knees next to him and reached for him with trembling hands.

The white hair still was as soft as it had been when he was still alive…

"Atr" Sal whispered. "Atr…!"

And then the loneliness came crashing down on him. The loneliness and the feeling of loss. Sal wept.

Of course he had known that Myrddin was an old man. Of course he had known that he would lose him. But losing him from old age or losing him in a battle was different – and Sal had never thought that he would not see Myrddin again when the battle finally ended…

A soft arm sneaked around his waist and cradled him against a warm, nearly hot and comforting body.

"Weep, fledgling. You have the right to do so. You have lost far too many to take it calmly" a warm voice said.

"I… I have to bury…"

"I will bury him. You have buried far too many, fledgling."

Sal just shook his head and tried to free himself from the stranger.

"He is my father. I have to bury him" he answered while he tried to get free.

"And he was my egg. I have the right to do so, too, my fledgling" the stranger said softly. "I will let you aid me – but I will be the one to bury him. I am his father. I should do it."

Sal looked up at this and stared at the stranger. The stranger's face looked a lot like Myrddin's but the eyes where golden, burning with red flames – and definitely not human at all…

"What… what are you?!"

The stranger smiled.

"I am a phoenix" he answered softly.

"But…"

"This form is temporary" the man said. "I will lose it in some hours. The most time it is strenuous to take on a human body – and the one time it wasn't was a lot of years ago. It was the time I raised your father."

"Don't frighten the egg, Fawarx" another voice said, the voice of a woman. Sal turned and stared at the woman behind the man. Her hair was greying and her eyes yellow like the basilisk's Sal had killed in second year. Her eyes had the same shape and colouring like Myrddin's.

"So you felt his death also, Aleahkys" the phoenix said softly.

"Of course I did. I am his mother after all" the woman said and bowed down to Sal. Sal did not know what happened but as soon as her hands met him, he felt himself shrink until he was a little child. The woman picked him up and then turned to Fawarx.

"Will you take our egg?" she asked softly. The phoenix nodded.

This time the funeral was different. While Sal had just buried the death, Myrddin's parents decided to burn their son.

Sal watched the burning and after Myrddin's body had been burned, his ash was taken to the walls of Camelot.

"You have died protecting these walls and all that they stand for. One day you will be needed again to protect them. Rest in peace, my egg. Will you continue to protect what you wanted to protect all along" Fawarx said and the ash was taken by the wind.

And suddenly a warm feeling enveloped the air around them – a feeling that Sal knew from his time in the future. It was this feeling that had told him from the first day he had entered the castle that he was home.

"What…?" he asked astonished when a soft wind caressed his cheek.

"Your father, fledgling" the phoenix answered softly. "Or did you think he would leave you for good? Whenever you return – he will always welcome you home."

And with that the woman carried Sal out of the grounds that later would become Hogwarts.

As soon as they left, a heavy and at the same time comforting feeling settled down on Sal's shoulders.

"The wards" he recognized. But not just the wards. Also the essence of his father – a father that he had lost but that had not left him.

Sal smiled while again tears started to mare his cheeks.

"Don't cry, my egg" the woman said. "Grandma and Grandpa are still here. From now on we will raise you as our own."

"I am a grown-up" Sal answered while trying to hide his tears.

"No, you aren't" the woman answered. "You are a little, adorable egg and I will raise you as mine."

The man snorted.

"You do not even know the name of Myrddin's egg, Aleahkys – and you already started the plan to raise him? Have you even asked him before you shrunk him to an egg again?!"

"Hush you, dear" Aleahkys said. "Or you will not be allowed to aid me in raising him."

Fawarx just snorted.

"Well, at least I finally know I lost it fully" he said. "I started to doubt my sanity when I decided to hatch my egg with a basilisk. Just an insane phoenix does the same again with his egg's egg."

The woman snorted.

"You should be grateful for every day we have. One day I will not recognize you anymore, so don't complain" she answered and cradled Sal as if he really was a little child. "And I am sure the little one will appreciate to have a family again – even if this family will more often be a snake and a bird then human."

The man snorted, but then sighed.

"I am sure, he will" he finally said. "Where to next?"

"The goblins" Sal said quietly. "They have to take Exccaliebor. I cannot…" Again tears threatened to fall. "… I cannot use it again. Not now – maybe later but not now…"

The woman – Sal's grandma – just caressed his cheek.

"All right, my egg" She said softly. "We will go to the goblins and after that we will go on. I will not raise my egg's egg in this cold and unfriendly country. It was hard enough to raise my egg here – I will not do so again with my egg's egg."

The man just snorted.

"Then let's leave the country. How about somewhere warm like Egypt or Rome?"

"Egypt" Aleahkys decided. "I am sure our little egg does not want to come anywhere near Rome for the next years."

"Egypt it is" the phoenix said and held out a hand. The woman took it and in the next moment flames licked on their bodies. A moment later they were standing in the middle of the goblin village Sal had left some years ago.

The goblins stared at them, then Gringooed came running and Aleahkys took the sword from Sal and gave it the stunned goblin.

"We will take the egg and you will guard its sword" she said to the stunned goblin.

"What… what happened?" another stunned voice said – Vayland.

"Our egg lost its father" Aleahkys said. "Fawarx and I decided to raise it again. It's too little for the sword, so we will leave it in your hands. You can hold on it until a family member needs it or until the egg comes back to claim it."

Gringooed stared at her, then he looked at Sal and understanding lit his eyes.

"We will guard it well, Lady Basilisk" he said warmly. "Until a member of Morganaadth's family needs it or Morganaadth returns to claim it."

Aleahkys just nodded.

"So mot it be" she said and held out her hand to Fawarx.

"Egypt now, dear" she ordered. The phoenix snorted but took her hand. A second burning later and they really were in Egypt – and in the middle of the desert.

"Definitely better, my dear" the female basilisk decided. "And now, my egg, let us return to you…"

The next two hundred something years Sal spent in the company of a phoenix and a basilisk. And while he lived with them, Medrawds own child who he had left behind with his mother Morgana, grew up and married. It had children and they married again. Hundredth of years later, the name LeFay would be lost but the line continued until there would be born a young girl to one of the descendants. The girls name would be Lily, Lily Evans. Meanwhile, a thousand years before Lily's birth Sal was learning to be the child of a basilisk and a phoenix – both of them insisted on teaching him while they changed locations every week because the female basilisk insisted on it.

Like that Sal saw a lot of places he had never dreamed about – and all of them were on the warmer parts of the earth.

Sal also started to grow again but it took him nearly all two hundred years to even reach his normal fifteen years of age again.

When he asked his grandmother about that, she just shrugged.

"Don't worry" she said. "It just takes so long because it wasn't you yourself who shrunk your body but me. But it really does not matter – you are after all somehow still fifteen, my egg."

After this explanation Sal had just sighed and decided not to ask again. He was not interested in hearing another explanation he did not understand fully. All he knew was, that he had for over two hundred years no control about how old he looked. When he finally had it again, his grandmother just sighed.

"So you really are a grown-up again, fledgling" she said sighing. "Well – I will not be able to hold on you forever. Just remember: I am here for you as long as I can. Your Grandpa and I will come to your aid. You just have to call us." And with that, she let him go again.

And Sal left.

It was hard at first, to be alone again – but he needed to leave. He could not be followed by his Grandparents the rest of his life!

So he left and returned to Britain and the goblin village he had left all those years ago. Gringooed was still alive but very old. His son Vayland was now the chieftain of the goblins. When Sal walked in their village, they recognized him instantly.

"So you are home again, Morganaadth" Vayland greeted him.

"I am" Sal answered.

And Vayland flicked his hand to summon Sal's sword.

"Take it. You are a clan-leader, you have to wear your sword."

Sal just hesitated a second.

"I will give it in your care when I leave again" he finally said. "When one of Medrawd's children asks for a sword – will you give it to them? I will not take it with me when I leave again."

"I will – as long as you just lend it to them and don't give it up. A goblin might after all give his sword to another one, but he will not gift it to him when the sword was made for him."

Sal just smiled.

"I would never give away a gift I received" he answered sincerely. "I merely will not need it when I travel the world and I do not want it to be unused until I need it again."

"This I can accept and understand" Vayland said and welcomed Sal home – where Sal would stay for the next sixty odd years until he finally decided to travel again…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	21. Chapter 20: 846 AD Goblins Again

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 846 AD Onwards**

**A Looting, A Ward And Goblins Again**

sss

For the last five hundred odd years Sal had been wandering. To begin he had started with an apprenticeship in Ireland to learn more about rituals, potions and runes. Of course, some of the stuff he had known already but others he had never heard of.

After that he had crossed over to the continent and wandered north. He had joint the Viking and had crossed the Atlantic Ocean to Island and Greenland. There he had wandered South and visited the countries which would be later Canada, USA and South America.

He had joined the humans living there, had learned their magic, languages and ways of life. Finally he had enough. He had returned to Alaska and from there had found a way to Russia. Visiting the Russian sorcerer he had entered China again. He had crossed it and visited India and after that Africa and finally had returned home.

Now he knew a lot of different languages he had not known before, had updated the languages he had known before and had learned some other writing types. His potion-knowledge was tenfold and his healing-arts improved beyond the knowledge of all other living individuals.

He also had learned some different battle-tactics and some useful spells for different occasions.

On his way home he had visited the Germans, toured Africa again and lastly lived for a while with some tribes somewhere in the country that would later be Turkey. Then he had returned to Europe – Italy to be exactly.

He had planned to visit Rome – just for old time's sake – but when he arrived, he arrived to chaos and destruction. The Arabs had come to Rome and looted it. And not just the mundane part of Rome had been the victim of their doings…

Sal found the woman in the outer skirts of Rome. To him, it looked like she had tried to flee from the Arabs and had been captured and wounded by them. The man – just a few yards from her – was dead, killed by the Arabian steel that had beheaded him. Sal turned his eyes away and went to the woman instead. He had seen so much dead already that he no longer was bothered by corpses. You learned to ignore the dead when you were fighting for the still living on a battlefield.

The first thing, that Sal saw, were the sharp teeth of the woman. Fangs. "A vampire" Sal's mind supplied. Until now he had not often met a vampire on his travels. The most of them lived removed from the mundane and magical world in covens just small enough to remain hidden from both worlds. Sal had never had the desire to search out one of them just to learn more of them.

He sighed and cautiously stepped forward until he reached the woman who was curled on the floor facing away from him, hugging something close to her chest. Her back was trenched in blood, a wound – maybe from a sword – had nearly sliced her in half. Sal was surprised that she was still breathing – but then, she_ was_ a vampire… vampires were able to survive things that a human would never survive…

When he was just a few steps away, she tensed and turned her face to look at him. Her eyes were a cool silver and staring at him intensely. Her lips moved, showing her fangs, daring him to step closer. Sal stopped.

"I do not want to harm you" he said in Latin. The dialect had changed over time but it was still understood in this part of the world. "Let me take a look at you. I am a healer."

The woman just bared her teeth even more.

"Everyone could say that" she hissed. "Prove it."

Sal answered her challenge with steady eyes while he softly tipped with his right hand against his chest – at the place he could feel his still beating heard under his warm skin. A soft glow spread across his chest, showing of the healer's oath he had taken in glowing runes.

The woman looked at it and her snarling stopped.

"May I help you?" Sal asked again.

"Your oath… covers… all…" she asked with halting breath.

"All creatures, Firbolg or not, yes" Sal answered.

Her eyes widened when she heard his answer.

"Your… one… of… us?" she wheezed.

"I am a Firbolg-born" Sal answered truthfully and she relaxed. He took this action and came closer. When she did not bare her teeth again, he sat down beside her. She tensed again when he reached for her. He saw the next moment why. In her arms she was shielding a little child – maybe five or six years old, a vampire child. Her child, he guessed.

The little boy looked at him with huge, fearful eyes.

"Is he hurt?" Sal asked softly, not reaching out for the child and not addressing it directly. He had grown up in a time when it was considered rude to do either. The woman relaxed again a little bit. She was still wary of him but seemed to decide to trust him for now.

"I… don't think… so" she wheezed and Sal nodded.

"May I take a look?"

She tried to open her arms so that he could look at the child, but needed his assistance to do so. Sal frowned. It did not look good for her if she was unable to even lift her arms. He said nothing. He knew that she would not permit him to heal her until she knew that her son wasn't hurt – her eyes told him this fact without the need of words.

So Sal took the boy from her arms and looked him over. He was fine, just frightened and was watching him with huge eyes. Sal smiled at him and turned to the boy's mother. When he turned back to her he again saw the corps of the man lying on the ground just a few steps away. He guessed it was the father of the dark haired vampire child.

"He's fine" Sal said softly to the mother. "I need to heal you now. Your child needs you." And the child did literally. With the father dead and without a coven nearby there was no way to survive for a vampire child if the mother also died. A vampire lived the first hundred years from the blood that was flowing through the veins of their parents or guardians. It was simply too young to hunt until then. Without the blood it would die within days.

The mother nodded and Sal turned her so that he could see her back. Her spine was broken, some of her inner organs ruptured. Sal grimaced but still started to weave his magic, trying to mend the damage.

He started to draw runes on the ground. Then he searched his girdle for potions and herbs. The most things he had were human orientated but some of them could also be used for vampires, others couldn't.

So Sal carefully searched his healing supplies for those he could use and then turned to the woman again. Normally he would have stabilised her with blood-magic but she was a vampire and he knew that she wouldn't react well to his blood.

As a Firbolg-born his blood was toxic to her – as toxic as every Firbolg blood was for a vampire. There was just one exception to the rule: children lived from the blood their parents provided, blood that would be toxic to them if they were adults themselves… except of course they had been fed that blood from early childhood on. It was complicated, but as far as Sal knew, the only Firbolg blood a vampire could consume safely was the blood of those that had raised them.

So Sal couldn't take the chance of using his blood to stabilise her. If it entered her body she would die from it, poisoned.

The only thing that Sal could do was using her own blood for the runes he needed to draw. And he did. He took the blood from her wound and drew runes on her neck, her wrists and ankles. He activated the runes and started to apply herbs and potions to her wound. For a moment it looked as if she was getting better, then his spells broke with a shattering noise and faded out of existence. He cursed under his breath in his father's mother tongue – Parseltongue – and tried to rescue his stasis runes.

He had no chance. The runes broke again before he could even try to activate them.

Sal cursed again. He tried for a third time and again the runes dissolved before he could activate them. There was no denying it anymore. Sal closed his eyes, trying not to think of the child next to him who was looking down at its mother, its little hand in its mouth, drooling.

"You… can't… heal…" the mother started. Sal sighed.

"Yes" he said softly. "I am sorry but there is nothing I can do to prevent it anymore…"

"My… child…" the woman said, then she gathered herself, her effete hand reached out to her son and Sal pushed the child forward until she could take the boy's hand in her own. The young boy looked down to his mother's face, clearly understanding that something was wrong but unable to understand what was wrong exactly.

"Momma?" the boy asked hesitantly.

"Healer" she huffed and Sal turned his eyes to her face.

"What do you need, madam?" he asked softly while feeling extremely bad just because he was unable to do anything to help her. He knew that today would just add another part to his nightmares.

As an answer to his question she let go of her child's hand and took Sal's instead. And before he could stop her, she bit down on his wrist. Blood oozed from his wound and Sal flinched. But the woman held tightly – with more strength then he thought she had left – and then bit down her own wrist, mixing her blood with his.

"Drink… my… child…" she hissed and the boy complied, used to being fed from the wrist of his mother. But it wasn't the wrist of his mother the boy started to feed on. It was Sal's wrist. Sal stared at the child, when the boy started to consume first the mixed blood of Sal and the boy's mother and then just Sal's blood.

"What…?!"

"Your… child…" the woman wheezed. "Anastasius… your… child…"

And then her eyes closed and she moved no more. Sal instead stared down to his wrist and the child, sucking on it.

_His child?!_

_HIS child?!_

"_Great_" Sal muttered in Parseltongue sarcastically. "_I really wanted to have a son – especially a vampire son!"_

The boy – Anastasius, Sal guessed – did not act as if he had understood him. Instead he sucked another few times and then stopped. Sal sighed, healed his wrist and then buried his head in his hands.

"And what should I do with you now?" he asked rhetorically. The boy looked at him with huge eyes.

"Dada?" Anastasius finally said, his voice high pitched and nervous.

"Yes, I guess that's me now" Sal said sighing. Then he looked at the dead woman. "I also guess we should burry your… former… parents…"

So he stood up and turned to the dead man some steps away. He finally decided to drag the man to the woman and burn them both.

He burned them and then scooped up the child, secured it in his arms and turned away from the dead. Rome definitely had lost his charm to him for a while…

"Let's go home, Anastasius" he said to the child in his arms.

"Home?" the child repeated.

"Yes, home. Back to Britannia."

"Momma?" the child asked hesitantly.

"Momma is dead now, Anastasius. Momma and dada are in heaven now. They will not come back."

"Heaven?"

Sal sighed again and pointed at the midday sky.

"At night you might see them up there, looking down to you, watching out for you" he said to the child. "You just have to search for the brightest stars in the sky."

The child didn't answer but buried its head in Sal's neck. Sal was sure that the boy not really understood. He guessed that the child was maybe four or five years old – too young to understand the concept of death.

Still, it understood that its parents were gone somehow. Sal was sure that the boy would be grieving soon.

Sal sighed again, then he strode on. Maybe he should find a home near here for some years until the child was old enough to travel back to Britannia…

In the end, Sal settled down in a little village in the Black Forest in the later Germany. The settlement was small and solely magical. First, the other villagers were wary of him. Anastasius was too young to pretend to be human and the villagers kept their distance at first, nervous about the 'two vampires'. It took nearly three years until they understood, that Sal truly wasn't a vampire and that they did not have to worry about the vampire child because it would not hunt at all until it was at least thirty years of age. Until then, Sal would be its only food source.

Sal himself also had to get used to give his blood to the child to eat. Blood was a powerful substance and normally a druid did not part with it easily. To feed it to a child was somehow… unsettling at first – especially because Sal had been taught what you could do with blood and what would happen if someone else took your blood for their own purpose.

With time, the villagers started to accept Sal and Anastasius. The day Sal found out they had been accepted, was the day he found out about the new last name the villagers had given them.

"Sanguinis!" one of them had called Sal. "Sal Sanguinis! Wait a minute!"

Sal had stopped this time, turning to the villager.

"Sanguinis?" he asked. "Of blood?"

They called him 'of blood' in _Latin_?!

The man just shrugged.

"Everyone calls you and your son that" the man answered. It was also the first time someone had called Anastasius Sal's son. "I called just to let you know about the meeting of the village in three nights. Will you be there?"

From then on, Sal and Anastasius were 'Sanguinis' in the mind of the villagers. They started to interact with them but Sal knew they would have to leave in a few years. Anastasius needed to see the world before he was old enough to hunt for himself. Sal refused to raise the child with the same fear of humans and other creatures that the other vampires seemed to have. It still took another ten years living in the settlement until Anastasius was old enough to travel with him.

They travelled Europe for a while until Sal decided when Anastasius was twenty years of age – still looking like a fifteen year old teen because vampires needed nearly forty years to age to adulthood – to finally show his son where Sal came from…

And because of that Sal was back home in Britannia.

Back home and back in the conflicts between goblins and wizards. Sal could not understand how these two nations could fight again. When he departed they had finally had a time of peace – now, just five hundred years later – they were fighting again.

Sal had seen it. He had crossed a battlefield where the wounded were still mourning. So Sal had done what he did every time he crossed a place like that. He had stopped and started to help. He healed goblin and wizards alike, uninterested about the cause of their fight this time. He had taught his son some things about healing – knowing that his son was not truly interested in that profession, but also knowing that to know how to heal was important. After he had healed the warriors on both sides he had walked away. He had been uninterested in getting in the conflict – especially with Anastasius in tow...

But now it seemed, as if he had no choice.

Sal and Anastasius had walked in a fight between goblin and wizards in the middle of the woods. The goblins were less. They had just three fighter, trying to shelter four women and seven children. The wizards – the ambushers – were twenty and seemed determined to kill the goblins.

Sal sighed.

"Wait here, Ana" he said to his son. "I will sort this out."

"But…"

"No but, Anastasius" Sal interrupted quietly. "As long as you are fed by me you do what I tell you, understood?"

The boy looked at him sullenly and in full teenage-disobedience, but finally nodded.

Sal just rubbed his forehead, trying to clear it from the beginning of a headache, then he stowed his stuff away under a bush, hid Anastasius behind it and entered the clearing, where the fight took place.

His left hand reached for one of his goblin-made daggers, the other one tightened its grip on his staff.

"Don't you think that fighting like that is a little bit unfair?" he asked coldly and stared at the wizards.

"Don't concern yourself, foreigner" one of the sorcerers said, speaking with a heavy accent that made his words nearly not understandable.

Sal estimated that not the sorcerer was speaking with an accent – Sal was. The language seemed to have changed again…

Sal sighed again. Another language he had to update…

Well, now he had not the time to do that, so his language skills had to do.

"I will have to concern myself when you are treating fellow intelligent beings like that." He answered, trying to imitate the speech of the sorcerers.

"You seemed to have missed the message." Another one said. "The Gathering of Lords decided that they are not like us. We are superior to them – we have the right to treat them like we want!"

"Well… if it is like that" Sal said, concealing his anger behind sarcasm. "Then I will do also treat inferior beings like I want."

He did not concern himself with a lot of spell work; instead he simply scribbled four symbols – two of them Norse runes, one an Egyptian Hieroglyph and the other one a Maya symbol – in the earth in front of him and send them out to the troublemakers.

The sorcerers didn't know what hit them. One moment they were still taunting the goblins, the next they were flying through the air and bound by the trees of the forest.

Sal looked them over, his eyes deadly cold.

"I think I like treating inferior beings like you like I want." He stated coolly. The sorcerers stared with disbelieve in their eyes at him.

"What… what are you doing?!" one of them spluttered. "_We _aren't the inferior beings – _they _are!" With that he tried to point at the goblins but was prevented by the tree which was concealing him.

"Oh – you aren't?" Sal asked sweetly. "I thought you are inferior to me – you are no lords, and as such you _should _be inferior to me." Not that a lord would not be inferior to him, as he was after all Arthur Pendragon's son… but that wasn't the point Sal tried to make so he just stared at the sorcerers and the sorcerers shuddered under his deadly green gaze.

"Of course, being who I am, even a mere lord is beneath me." Sal finally decided to add just because he could. "So – please tell your lords kindly that the _Olde _Line will decline to work with them. Emrys sends his regards." And with that he turned to the goblins.

"_Clan-brothers! Is anyone hurt?" _he asked in Gobbledegook. The goblin changed a look, then one of them made some steps in his direction, still holding his weapon at Sal.

"_What does this concern you, foreigner?" _he also asked in an accentuated Gobbledegook. Sal sighed and added another language to update to his list.

"_I am a healer, so it does concern me" _he answered using the tradition of the goblin to answer for his actions.

"_But you are also a sorcerer" _the goblin answered. _"Their healers don't have the same code like the goblin ones."_

Sal knew the goblin was normally right – but Sal had never been normal.

"_I am no mere sorcerer. I am a Goblin Friend, a clan-brother" _he answered. "_I fought with the goblins five hundred years ago. I nearly laid my life down to rescue your chieftain. I am not honourless like the ones you call sorcerers."_

"_So you do call them different?" _the goblin asked, still holding his weapon in a death-grip.

"_I am not born a sorcerer" _Sal answered truthfully. "_My father was a druid, a Firbolg-born. My mother was one of the Olde. I cannot call myself a sorcerer with a heritage like that. I call myself a Firbolg-born."_

Sal hoped his answer was enough. He wasn't sure if the magical creatures still called themselves 'Firbolg' but it was the term he had learned and he wouldn't change calling himself it as long as he could still use it.

"_Do you have a name, foreigner?" _the goblin asked and Sal sighed relieved silently. Being asked for his name meant that the goblin did consider his statement as something that could be true.

"_I am Salvazsahar Emrys" _he answered, then turned and winked at his son. "_This is my adopted child, Anastasius Sanguinis. I also have a goblin name. Your chieftain named me Morganaadth."_

Now the goblins that had before looked at his son, all openly stared at him, hope and unbelieving in their eyes.

"_What was the name of the chieftain who named you and what did his son gift you, when you left?"_ the speaker of the goblins asked, tension in his voice mingling with hope.

"_His name was Gringooed." _Sal answered. _"His son Vayland gifted me a Vault in your bank and these."_ With that he drew one of his daggers and showing it, the peak still pointing to the earth.

The goblin-speaker extended a hand and Sal gave him his dagger. Expert eyes looked over the slim, short blade which was hiding in self-produced shadows. The hand of the goblin caressed the blade and the name on it.

Then he returned the blade.

"_I thank you, Morganaadth"_ he finally said. _"I am Ragnuk Ragnaadth Vaylandadth Gringoodadth. It was my grandfather who gifted you this blades. I am now the chieftain of the clans. These are my family: my brothers, my sister and my and my brothers__'__ wives and children. I welcome you back to the clans and as a clan-brother, I ask you to help us."_

"_I thank you, Ragnuk" _Sal answered and bowed slightly. Then he scrutinized the other goblins.

"_So… is anyone hurt?" _Sal asked again.

"_My son" _the speaker answered. "_But I fear you won't be able to help him. His wounds are too deep."_

"_Let me decide." _Sal answered.

The other goblins exchanged a look, then they opened his way to a child, that had been protected by all the others. It was lying on the ground, blood oozing from a deep wound in the stomach. Sal could clearly see that the organs inside where also stabbed. This was nothing a mere wizard healer could heal. Even one of the goblin ones would surrender at these wounds.

But Sal wasn't one or the other. He had hundreds of years of experience. He was not sure he could heal the boy, but he was sure that when anyone could, he was.

"_It will be hard, but I may be able to heal him" _he finally said while summoning his rucksack without even looking up from the deadly wounded boy. _"I cannot promise anything, but let me try."_

Now he could clearly see hope in the eyes of the goblin. He looked at his own son who stood a little awkward in the clearing and motioned for him to get Sal's things. The boy did as he was told and Sal returned his gaze to the goblin.

"_It is a deep wound, Morganaadth" _Ragnuk said in that moment sceptically. "_My wife is a healer – even she is unable…"_

"_I just asked for a try, nothing more." _Sal answered. Ragnuk stared at his dying son, then at Sal.

"_So be it, Morganaadth. It just can help."_

Sal nodded, took his stuff from the hands of his son and searched it for herbs he needed. Then he turned to the middle of the clearing, drawing hastily runes, hieroglyphs and symbols on the ground, followed by circles, pentagrams and lines. A wave of his staff turned the earth to a ritualistic stone-bed.

After that he turned around and fetched the boy up from the ground, carried him to the bed and laid him down. When he family creped near, he stopped them before they could enter the outer-circle.

"_Don't enter the shield-runes." _He said. _"I cannot have anyone contaminate them."_

The family reacted in jumping two steps back, staring at the circles and runes.

"_What is this?" _Ragnuk asked.

"_Ritualistic healing" _Sal answered. "_I am not sure if anyone still does that, but it will serve my purpose well."_

"_A dark ritual?" _Ragnuk asked hesitating.

"_Not dark" _Sal answered. _"I will not kill anything to do it. Ritualistic magic was never just solely dark. There is always a light and a dark side of things."_

And with that, he activated the runes. The time in the inner circles stopped and with it the bleeding of the boy. The outer one disinfected the area and others balanced the magical flow, so that magic would not disrupted the ritual he would do. Then Sal turned to his herbs and potions and took out an herb and one of his potions.

"_This is a sleeping potion" _he said to the boy. "_And this one is an herb to conceal the pain." _Holding up the herb. "_Chew the herb and drink the potion. After that you will not feel anything anymore and you will simply go to sleep."_

He knew that the combination he was giving the boy was dangerous but his stock was limited and that was the best he could come up with.

The boy did as he was told and not a minute later his eyelids fluttered and closed.

Sal waited the next five minutes to be sure the boy really slept and did not feel anything, then he took out one of his daggers and cut his own wrist. Blood flowed and dropped on the drawn circle. The circles one after another lit up.

Then Sal wrote carefully some runes with his own blood on the forehead of the boy. The same thing he did with the boy's wrists and ankles. Then he wrote the same runes on his own forehead, wrists and ankles.

After that he closed his own wound and chanted.

The runes lit.

One moment the clearing was as bright as in daylight, then the light succumbed to a shimmering red.

The boy would be bound to Sal's strength for now. It would be tiresome for him but it would bind the soul of the boy to his body – and that was the only thing that mattered.

Sal took a deep breath, waited another two minutes and began after that with cleaning the wounds. They were gruesome – and far more deadly as they looked. Sal had to call all his knowledge of healing in his mind to start mending the organs. Taking care of the magic flow of the young goblin he mended one organ after the other, sometimes pausing to make sure the magic of the young goblin still wasn't hindered in its natural flow through the body.

Sometimes he also paused to remember how the organs were connected or how they looked.

Runes, hieroglyphs, symbols mixed with spells in different languages, herbs and potions slowly mended the organs. Finally the last of the organs looked again like it should.

Sal took another deep breath, then he transfigured a needle sterilized it in a called flame and started the tiring process to sew the outer wounds. He knew that there were spells to mend wounds like that, but he dared not to use them. They would disturb the spell work he used to mend the inner organs – and that he could not risk.

The boy would have to live with some heavy scars, but it was better than dying. And maybe Sal could later, when the organs were alright, mend the wounds magically. Now they had to heal naturally.

He disinfected the suture and bandaged the wounds. Then he carefully destroyed the ritual circle and the runes on the forehead, wrists and ankles of the boy. After that he also destroyed the runes on himself. The blood he had used to draw lit again for another moment, and then it vanished into little red sparkles which flew away with the wind.

"_You can come now"_ He said to the goblin-family. As soon he said that, they came running. The mother reaching out for her son but stopping before touching him.

"_How is he?" _she asked, fear in her voice. Sal opened his mouth to reply but then grinned.

"_How about asking him yourself?" _He asked and smiled at the young boy who had just opened his eyes. _"How do you feel, my boy?"_

"_Strange" _the boy answered. "_I don't hurt but there is something tight around my waist."_

"_That might be the bandage" _Sal answered chuckling. "_I could not mend your outer wounds because I feared to disturb my work with your inner wounds. It will have to heal naturally, I am sorry."_

"_But he will live?" _Ragnuk asked hopefully.

"_Well, he is awake and seemed to be fine – so when nothing goes terribly wrong, yes, he will" _Sal answered. "_But tell me, how come your child was hurt like that?"_

"_We are living near here" _Ragnuk answered. "_My boy was playing here. I don't know what happened, but I know he did not return when he should so I and my family started looking for him. He was hurt like that when we found him. My wife tried to heal him when suddenly these scums turned up and rounded on us. And then you came – that's all I know."_

"_They came and hurt me when I was playing" _the boy said. "_They let me live – I think they planned to wait for my family to find me to take us all down." _The boy's words were grim and far older then the years he counted.

For Sal the young goblin was another boy who had to mature beyond his years. He sighed. He hated it. Children should stay children – they should be able to play to laugh and to live. They should not be slain while playing or fearing for their life…

He withdrew his thoughts from their path to fix them again to the present.

"_Well – they won't do it again. I am sure" _He said coolly, looking at the captured sorcerers who were looking at him with fear in their eyes. "_When they finally are released from here, they will never think about hurting someone again."_

"_Why?" _Ragnuk asked, now also looking at the sorcerers. "_What did you do? I thought you just captured them."_

"_I did." _Sal answered. "_And they will relive all the crimes they did in their own mind and on their own bodies with them as the victims before the trees will let them go. Their punishment will start with sunrise."_

Ragnuk shuddered.

"_Remind me never to anger you." _He said. "_I might be a goblin but even I prefer a blade through my stomach to this."_

"_Oh, it won't kill them" _Sal assured Ragnuk shrugging. "_The deathly blow won't be deathly for them – they just will feel like they are dying. I am sure, that after they relived their deeds they will still be able to walk away – reliving the same thing night after night in their dreams until they regret."_

"_Just ask for my sword when I have wronged you. I will give it to you freely so that you can stab me, alright, Morganaadth?" _Ragnuk commented. _"It will definitely preferable to this punishment."_

Sal just shrugged.

"_When you think so, chieftain" _he answered unconcerned and then turned the goblin-boy.

"_You should stay in bed for the next days. You may sit up when your mother helps you, but we have to wait until the spell works settles and your wounds have healed a bit."_

"_What is with his magic?" _the mother asked.

"_As soon as he is healed, he should have no problems with it. But I would recommend that he does not do magic for the next fortnight. My magic could interact when he would try – and that is nothing we want to have."_

"_So, what will you do now, Morganaadth?" _Ragnuk asked. Sal shrugged again.

"_I just returned to Britain" _he answered. "_I thought of staying and relearning the languages. They seemed to have slightly changed since I was here the last time. It will take some time to update my vocabulary. Maybe I will work as a healer…"_

"_How about coming with us for the night?" _Ragnuk asked. "_You can decide tomorrow what you want to do…"_

For one moment Sal thought about declining the offer – but he knew that it would be insulting if he did and so he gave in.

And so he was sucked again into the war between goblins and sorcerers, searching battlefields for wounded people, defending women and children, working together with goblin-healers and the clans. His son was following everywhere like a shadow while learning to fight from the goblins. His son also found his profession as a scholar by the goblins and started working in their archives. Sal let him be. Sal's own father had never pushed Sal into a profession and Sal would never do it to his son. If Anastasius wanted to be a scholar and live his life for dusty scrolls, then so be it. Sal would not stop him. And like that they slowly drifted apart again, especially after Anastasius finally learned and was able to hunt alone when he turned thirty-two. After that Anastasius still sometimes returned to Sal to be fed, but the occasions were less and far between – especially with Sal on the battlefield and Anastasius in the archives, both working while they were sometimes miles and miles apart.

So Sal healed, searched the battlefields and aided the goblins. His final aid would be finally being the neutral party in the peace negotiations. But that would be nearly forty years later.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. Sorry it took so long this time, but I had some trouble with my dear Anastasius. He did not really wanted to be added to the story… xDDD_

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	22. Chapter 21: Hooked in a Twisted Way

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Hooked In A Twisted Way**

sss

For Amelia Bones it had been days since she had a less strenuous minute. She had searched the ministry high and low for every trace of paper about Sirius Black. What she had found was more concerning then _The Quibbler _had shown.

There had been no documentation about the imprisonment of Sirius Black at all. The only paper trail she could pick up was the trail that had started days after his imprisonment in Askaban. When you looked solely at the files of Askaban, Sirius Black as suddenly surfaced as he vanished twelve years later.

Amelia Bones could nothing but frown when looking at that.

So she had taken her evidence and had approached the Minister about it – just to be turned down without even being able to utter one word about it.

The next step would have been to talk to the whole Wizengamot – but Amelia dreaded this discussion. The most members of the Wizengamot would not listen to her as soon as she uttered the name 'Sirius Black'. The entire puplic thought him to be a convicted murderer and no member of the Wizengamot would dare to crash his or her public image for a 'might be'.

So there was just one way…

Amelia Bones was sitting in her office, smirking. In her hands she was holding an edition of _The Quibbler._ Normally she would have dropped dead before being found with the abstruse newspaper in her hands.

But that had changed a few days after Harry Potter's trial, when one of her Aurors had dropped by to show her the article in _The Quibbler._

At that time she had been very interested in the critique _The Quibbler _had printed. Critique about the press and the Ministry was something you could not read everyday. It even had some new information for Amelia herself.

She had not known that the Ministry had the major share in the stocking of the _Daily Prophet. _To her shame she never had thought once about the connection between the Ministry's opinion and the opinion of the _Daily Prophet. _For her it had been natural, that Ministry and _Prophet _said the same things.

Of course she had seen the slandering of Harry Potter that followed the end of the Tri-Wizard-Tournament. She simply had thought that that was what press would do. She never had thought that maybe Fudge himself would be behind the slandering and wrong information the press was printing. Now she wasn't so sure anymore.

The slandering that followed the trial last week she looked at more critical.

_A formality that prevented that the boy was tried?!_

She knew it wasn't like that – but she could do nothing to stop the press from printing. She would lose her job if she tried, she was sure, Fudge would arrange it. He was not pleased with her for letting the boy prove his point but she had followed the law so he could not fire her for something like that. When she tried to influence the press instead… she would be gone before she could even look his way.

And Amelia felt furious because of that. She normally did not care about the _Daily Propohet – _but to slander an innocent boy just because the minister did not like the young one… that was truly appealing! The boy after all was not older than her own niece and Amelia knew her niece would be devasted if anyone would dare to print things like that about her.

Someone should have protected the boy from the press. Someone should have helped him to organize a barrister to stop the slandering of the _Prophet._ Amelia could not fathom why Albus Dumbledore had done nothing to protect the boy until now.

She knew that the Headmaster himself had organized a barrister for himself to stop the slandering of his own name some weeks ago – so why hadn't he done so for his own ward, too?!

And then there was Fudge.

The minister was on the war path against the Headmaster and the Boy-Who-Lived.

Amelia was sure he would try everything to destroy both of them utterly. And there had been nothing Amelia had been able to stop him – after all, the minister controlled the _Prophet…_

But now…

She smiled, still holding the newspaper in her hands.

Maybe she could use a different approach…

She stood up and left her office, the newspaper still in her hand.

"I will go to lunch" she told her assistant.

After that she left to the apparition-point and apparated away to Diagon Alley. There, at her preferred restaurant, an old friend was waiting for her. Amelia had send her friend a letter to meet her here after she had found the article in the newspaper she was still clutching in her hands.

"Augusta" she greeted the old woman. Augusta Longbottom smiled at her.

"Amelia, my dear! Nice to see you again."

They sat down in a private boot and after they ordered, Amelia showed her old friend the article she had found in _The Quibbler _today.

"Look at that and tell me what you think" she instructed, showing the old lady the letter of Oliver Twist and the parts of the trial script Xeno Lovegood had inserted that showed Oliver Twist's point of few before he had answered the letter.

"Well, that definitely is something" Augusta Longbottom stated after she finished reading the article. "Xeno should watch out what he is writing – I don't think that Fudge likes it very much."

"I don't think our Minister is aware of it" Amelia answered smirking. "He is not reading _The Quibbler._"

"I thought the same about you, my dear" Augusta answered.

Amelia smirked again.

"Well, I didn't" she answered. "But some weeks ago an Auror brought me the paper because of an interesting article – the first article from this Oliver Twist."

"And you decided to follow it a little bit longer in case it was not a one-time article?"

"Yes."

"So why did you ask me here?" Augusta leaned back. The door opened and their food arrived. They waited until the waiter had left the room again before continuing.

"I want to publish this article somewhere else" Amelia stated, smiling evilly. "I want it read from as many persons as possible."

"The _Daily Prophet _won't print it" Augusta answered.

"I know – they are in the pocket of the Ministry." Amelia answered, still smiling. And suddenly Augusta smirked.

"You are clever, my dear." She said. "I will ask. And I will write Xeno – he will know how to contact Mr. Twist."

"I thought you would catch on" Amelia said and took out some other papers. "These are trial scripts of Mr. Potter's trial. I am sure the Minister will catch on soon. He will seal the court script, so I made some copies."

"These are the only ones? No-one other has come to get a copy?" Augusta asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No" Amelia answered smiling. "There are until now fifty five others who have come."

"As soon as we have published it, I will leave these in some public places" Augusta promised smiling.

After that they spoke of different things and when Amelia finally returned to work, she felt better then she had for a long time now. She even had to stop shortly before returning to her work to let the smirk vanish from her face.

Now she just had to wait a little bit more – and then she could finally strike and demand a trial for a man she suddenly doubted that he was really guilty.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry smiled. In his right hand he was holding an edition of the next edition of _The Quibbler. _It would start to be sold next week. In his left hand he was holding a letter solely addressed to him – well, not really to him but still… to him.

It was a letter addressed to a fellow called "Oliver Twist" and it was an invitation to write for _The Quibbler _as a columnist. Harry had read the letter trice until now. Then he finally decided to answer the letter positively. This was a chance he had to take.

In that moment another letter arrived. It also was addressed to Oliver Twist. Winky gave it to him smiling.

"Another letter for you, Master Harry", she said.

He took it and dismissed her again.

This time his smirk even widened when he read the letter he got.

"_Dear Mr. Twist"_, it said. "_We wish to ask you to be allowed to also publish your articles in our newspaper. We are especially interested in Sirius Black and your opinion why there was no trail to begin with. If could could research this fact and maybe ask in your new letter and if Xenophilius Lovegood would be inclined to answer, we would pay you both the wage of a free-lancing journalist for this article and any other you come up with. If you accept please add your account-number and the name of your account-manager. Sincerely Amanda MacDougal, Editor in Chief for the _Witch's Weekly_."_

Harry grinned. Well, that was something he could work with. He quickly penned a reply and gave it to Winky to deliver. His chances were increasing. Soon he would be able to step some great men on the toes without getting burned by doing it…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

A few days later Amelia Bones sat in her office, when suddenly Fudge stumbled in.

"I need your Aurors!" he cried.

Amelia just raised an eyebrow at his words.

"They have to arrest someone!" Fudge continued.

"Who?"

"A fellow named Oliver Twist!" Fudge answered huffing. "He dared to print rubbish in the _Witch's Weekly_!"

"You are reading the _Witch's Weekly, _Minister?" Amelia asked with surprise in her voice.

"Yes… uh… of course not! But Dolores does and she saw this offending article! We have to arrest this Twist fellow – and Lovegood also!"

"Lovegood? I am sure that Xenophilius Lovegood does not publish in the _Witch's Weekly_. So why do you want to arrest him for an article in this newspaper?" Amelia asked. Inwardly she laughed at the Minister. He was far too late. The article was printed and the most would have read it by now. There was nothing he could do anymore except of huffing and puffing and howling.

Of course, the _Witch's Weekly _wasn't the _Daily Prophet_ – but it definitely had a better reputation than the _Quibbler_. And therer were many witches that read _Witch's Weekly _just for the fashion tips printed inside…

There definitely wasn't a better audience then the wives of the most influential lords or the ladies themselves…

"But he did this time!" the Minister cried in than moment, throwing the offending article on the desk before Amelia. "Look at it! They dare to mock me! Me, the Minister of Magic!"

Amelia took the newspaper and looked dutifully at the article.

"I am still not sure why you came to me" she finally said while putting the article back on the desk.

"Because you are the Head of the Law Department and you have to arrest those two individuals!" Fudge answered. "They are slandering the Ministry!"

"I cannot see any slandering in the article at all" Amelia answered. "It is based on the truth. The boy cleared himself quite effectively…"

"But… but… but there is no way that _that _is allowed to be printed!" Fudge howled.

"There is no law against it" Amelia said. "Would there be the _Daily Prophet _would have to close its business a long time ago."

Fudge blinked and gawked at her. Then he turned on his heels and stormed out of the door. Ten minutes later Amelia heard that the archive with the trial scripts had been closed for the public. She just smirked. The Minister was far too late…

When she finally left her office dozens of people had read the article and even more had looked for the trial scripts themselves. She later discovered that nearly one hundred trial scripts after the publishing in the _Witch's Weekly _had been given out before the Minister had time to close the doors of the archive – not counted the others that had been given out after the article in _The Quibbler _a week before and the scripts Amelia and Augusta Longbottom had.

A day later the whole wizarding world was discussing the unfair trial of one Harry Potter. Amelia smiled. Maybe if she pushed a little bit more she soon would be able to push for trials that were due for more then a decade…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Meanwhile another woman was smirking at the article.

Augusta Longbottom had bought herself the _Witch's Weekly _after the article had been printed just to be able to read it again. The way it was written… it reminded her of a man she had though to be dead… but then…

"Oliver Twist" she whispered to herself. A young orphan hero in a Muggle novel, searching for love and acceptance, used by thieves and driven away or stolen away from those that accepted him.

"Oliver Twist" she whispered again, smirking. Twist – like twisting. A person that was able to twist and turn and still come out on top. "There's just one man I could think of that would have thought about something like that" she concluded.

The only problem – she thought he had died.

"Or vanished…" Augusta reminded herself. "Well, it seems I have to take up correspondence with a fellow lord again…"

Augusta searched through her drawyer until she found parchment that had no imbodied family crest. She knew that when she was right and the man she was thinking about really had written the letters – tarned as a teenage boy – then she would have to be careful.

The man had vanished years ago. It would not endear her to him when he really was in hiding and she would flush him out by writing this letter on her usual parchment…

"Oh… I feel young again" she chuckled while setting out her writing uttensiles. "My dear professor – I would never have thought that I might have the chance to see you again…"

And then she started writing.

She wrote not much, just enough. Augusta did not want to reveal too much if someone else was intercepting her letter.

_Professor Malfoire,_

_I am quite sure that those Twisted messages are your doing. If I am right, please consider my help in whatever plan you are working on. After all, you and I both know that some people seem to think to high of themselves and their knowledge and age. If you want to crease this sureness, one word and I will follow._

_Augusta L., born S. (Hogwarts alumna in 1870)_

"Now to the owl…"

Augusta chose a common barn owl and send it out with the instruction to bring the letter back if the person it was addressed to was dead. Not, that she believed him dead. And it wasn't only because the professor had been enchanted with the story of Oliver Twist and Charles Dickens in general. It was also because of the way the letters were written. No one that Augusta knew of would chose a name like Oliver Twist and write like that but the professor…

"Now I just have to wait and see what he is up to…"

And maybe warn Neville. The poor boy would be crushed down to living powder if he ever came face to face with the professor without a warning first…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

A few hours later a barn owl, followed by another reached the window of a shabby looking house in London. It was the middle of the night and no-one but a young looking man was awake in the whole house.

The young man had been dreaming about a corridor and a door and had woken just a few minutes earlier.

He opened the windows and let in the owls. The two owls were followed by a third that seemed to have waited for the window to open. The young man raised an eyebrow at that but took the letters anyway.

He knew that this would be the last week to get the letters like this. He had risked to get the letters personally until now but in Hogwarts he would not be able to do so.

"I need to tell the goblins that they will get my mail until Dobby or Winky collect it…" Harry thought while opening one letter after the other. The first one was a reply he had been waiting for since he had written his dear old friend about the thief he had found – the thief who had stolen from his friend not one but two times already…

_My dear old Friend,_

_Let it go. It's not worth it. You might have found the thief – but think about the price that could come with it, when you try to capture him. You have a life to live. Do not live it solely for revenge. There are still people in this world that care for you. Live for them._

_Forget what the thief has stolen._

_It was time to loose it anyway._

_Your old Friend._

_Me._

Harry snorted when he read the reply. Then he pinned a short answer to that one.

_My dear old Friend,_

_Never. Some things cannot be forgotten. Some things cannot be forgiven._

_Your old Friend._

_Me._

The other two letters were more enjoyable. Especially one. It had been brought by the barn owl and Harry had raised his eyebrow when reading it.

"Well – at least this one will help me greatly" he whispered to himself.

"Which one?" another voice asked and Harry startled and turned, his knive coming to rest on the troath of his friend.

"Reg!" he hissed. "You know not to starle me! I could have killed you!"

"Yeah, sure" Reg answered unconcerned. "So… what are you whispering about?"

"An ally" Harry answered.

"An ally?"

"She knows me from… well… from before…"

"And how…?"

"Oliver Twist. She knows I have been a little bit… obsessed with him back in my days as a professor. And then my way of asking questions – I think that both of it together tipped her off."

"And now?"

"Nothing" Harry shrugged. "She does not know I'm Harry now. All she knows is that I am alive – and I might need her. If I am right she belongs to one of the families I would have tried to get on my side anyway. It's much easier to do so when she knows me beforehand."

"And the other letter?"

This time Harry smirked.

"Something that might aid my task greatly" he answered.

"Oh… what…?"

"I let you read this letter when you promise me to look into something" Harry said, holding the letter so that Reg could not reach it.

Reg stared at the letter, then at Harry. He sighed.

"What should I do?" he asked still sighing.

Harry grinned.

"I need information about a corridor…" he said and started to describe what he had been dreaming of this night. "Just everything you find – take your time. I am sure we will have it."

Reg nodded and Harry handed him the letter.

Looking it over, Reg's eyes widened.

"By Merlin!" he said. "That sure aids you in your task…"

"Yep" Harry answered, popping the 'p'. "And all it took was an innocent letter to a gossip rag."

"Slytherin."

"Proud of it" Harry contered grinning. Now he had just to reply positively.

The wheels of something bigger were finally starting to turn faster…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_I'm not sure when Harry started to dream about the DoM in OoTP. I do not have a copy of the book with me at the moment, so if it's later, sorry. I try to still somehow follow the plot so if its wrong you'll just have to live with it this time. _

_Well, that's it for today._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	23. Chapter 22: The Wheels Start Turning

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**The Wheels Start Turning**

sss

A week later – and because of that the last week until Hogwarts would start again – Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the Head of the Malfoy-family in Britain, found himself in a situation that definitely wasn't to his benefits.

While his house was shielded from the outer world by impressive wards – wards impressive enough that even the Dark Lord had trouble to break them – it now was invaded by Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. But that wasn't Lucius' problem. He had after all invited the Dark Lord to use his house as a base for his operations.

No, the true problem of one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, who was currently sitting in his study, looking over papers from the ministry, was the person that suddenly stood inside his study without being invited by him.

The person was young – Lucius would have judge him to be not older then his son if the person in front of him hadn't looked at him with eyes as wise as the moon. Black hair was tied back with Slytherin-green ribbon in an old fashioned, traditional way. The robes he was wearing were also cut in an older style. They were green with a black tunic and black trousers beneath. Black leather-boots and a silver belt, looking as if it was made of silver leaves added the final touch to his appearance. The boy looked like a young Salazar Slytherin, long before he had met the other founders and build a school.

And his icy green eyes did nothing to change this image. A cruel, cold smile was playing over his face, just to settle in an even harder gaze.

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Head of the British branch family of Malfoire" he said and his words had an odd hissing in the background. Lucius shivered and fingered for his wand.

"Do not even try, my dear Head of the branch family" the boy said softly and before Lucius could even get a real hold of his wand, the wand was gone, sailing through the air and landing in the right hand of the boy in front of him.

This time, Lucius gulped and his eyes widened when he was suddenly at the mercy of the stranger. He had heard of wandless magic – but he had never seen it used so casually like it had been used by the boy in front of him.

"Who… whoever you are – when you try something you will wish you were never born!" the Malfoy head finally hissed. "And now, boy, give me back my…"

Pain shot through his whole body, forcing him to shut up. It wasn't like the Cruciatus but it definitely wasn't pleasant – like a swat on the bottom and the short moment after when you could think of nothing but the pain that had erupted from being swatted.

"Do never address me as 'boy' again, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, or I will definitely treat you like the unruly boy_ you _have been acting as for the last two decades" the boy hissed and Lucius spluttered.

"How dare you?! I am the Head of the Malf…" again the same pain like before made him shut up.

"How dare _you_!" the boy hissed. "Speaking to your Head of House as if you were superior!"

"Hea… Head of House?!" Lucius Malfoy stared at the boy, then he glanced at the door of his study – _surely someone had heard…_

"Don't worry" the boy said smirking. "No-one will interrupt or hear us until I have dealt with you." Lucius eyes snapped to the deathly green eyes of the boy in front of him. "After all" the boy continued as if it was normal. "This is a family matter. The Family Magick of the wards of the manor will hold the secret of our conversation until I, as the Head of House, will release it from my hold." In those eerie eyes looking at him, Lucius could see nothing but the truth. There was no aid and no escape until the boy would let him go.

Still, Lucius had to try. He sprang up, planning to charge at the boy and disarming the child. Instead he flew back, his back connecting with the back of the chair he had been sitting on when he was forcefully sat down again.

"Try again and I will truly treat you like an unruly child and swat your bottom until you behave" the boy in front of him hissed. "And I thought as a pure-blood and a Malfoy you would have been raised better! Instead I see a fully grown man in front of me who does not even behave better then a stubborn two-year old toddler. What a disgrace to my family!"

Lucius blushed, unable to feel anything less but a fool after being chastised by a teenage boy. Then fury overtook him again.

"How dare you to treat…!"

This time he stopped speaking not because the boy had stopped him like before but because his eyes fell on the ring the boy was wearing. A signet ring. And not just any signet ring.

Lucius paled when he recognized the Malfoire-crest.

The boy's gaze followed Lucius' and a cruel smile again marred his handsome face.

"So you finally saw" he said, still smiling cruelly. "As if I hadn't told you before." The boy snorted and shook his head. "You are truly like a child, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy."

Lucius wanted to sneer at the boy, but this time the rules of his father stopped him. Until now Lucius might have acted like the Lord of his family – but he definitely wasn't and maybe never would be. And Lucius had been trained how to act in front of his lord…

The boy still seemed to see the suppressed sneer, because he sneered at Lucius in return.

"Learn to show proper respect, child-head of the Malfoy-branch" the child said. "And while you're at it, my dear Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, explain to me exactly _why _I am here."

Lucius blinked at these words and looked up again to the cruel smile that marred the boy's face.

"I… I do not understand why you came, Milord" he answered, this time definitely respectful. Lucius might not know the name of the boy in front of him but the signet ring showed him all he needed to know. This boy in front of him had his life in his hands. If Lucius would anger him even more, Lucius could loose his place in the family faster then he would like.

"You don't?" the boy hissed. "You don't?! Then the letter that reached me two days ago was all a lie?!"

"Letter, Milord?"

"Yes, letter" the boy in front of him hissed. "A letter, telling me you are using _my_ name and influence to gain the ear of the minister. A letter, telling me that you are using money provided for you by _my_ part of the family to finance your life-style and that you are using connections _my_ part of the family built to reach your goals! Tell me, have I been lied to?!"

Lucius paled further and further the more he heard.

"I… Milord…" he stuttered, his Slytherin mind working in overdrive to change this situation to his benefit.

"I… I would have never done anything like that! Whoever wrote you…!"

"Do. Not. Dare. To. Lie. To. Me!" the boy hissed. "Do you really belief I have not checked the facts?! There are records of your deeds! How dare you to even try to lie to me?!"

This time the boy's fury was nearly visible. It suddenly clung to the walls of Lucius' office, marring the very air with its heavy smell of powerful magic. Lucius shuddered.

"I… I…" Lucius stuttered. But he did not know what to say anymore. There was just one thing he suddenly saw in his future: he saw himself disinherit and thrown out of the family, he saw himself on the street, not better then the Muggles he hated so much, his Family Magick gone, his wand snapped…

"P…please, Milord… I… I will change my ways! Just… just one other chance! Please, I… I beg you, Milord!" he whispered while at the same time he tried to return to the pure-blood image he had projected for years.

The boy looked at him as if he was mudblood.

"You will not have access to our family fortune anymore until you proof to me you can provide for your own family. You will not vote in my place anymore but send the material on so that I can vote myself and you will stop throwing around _my _name to get what you want to have" the boy hissed. "Then, maybe then, I will let you stay in my family."

And with that the boy apparated away, directly through the wards – wards that kept out everyone but family…

Lucius shuddered and then buried his head in his hands. What would the Dark Lord say when Lucius was unable to finance him like before? Of course, there was still the dowry of his wife – but that was just a temporary solution at best…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry softly opened the door of Grimauld Place and spied in the entrance hall. The hall was empty, so Harry opened the door and stepped in. He closed it softly behind himself.

"And were have you been, young man?" a voice said coolly. Harry spun around and saw his godfather standing on the second landing of the stairs.

"Er… just on the front step… to have a bit of fresh air, you know…" Harry answered, guilt clearly showing on his face. "I know I shouldn't have but…"

Sirius sighed, and then winked his godson upstairs. Harry complied and together they entered the room with the Black family tree. Sirius closed the door behind them and then turned back to Harry.

"Harry…" he said sighing. "You know it's…"

"I know it's dangerous to leave the house!" Harry interrupted him. "But the front step is protected! I did not step further, I promise!"

Harry saw his godfather searching his face for the truth.

"You really did not make another step?" Sirius finally said softly.

"Yes. I really did not make another step. If you don't believe me you can dose me with Veritasserum – I would not answer different" Harry said. And he wasn't lying; after all, you could apparate from the front step and back on it – so he definitely had not stepped any further…

"All right" Sirius finally said. "But please, Harry, refrain from even going out to the front step from now on, please."

Harry saw that his godfather did not really like playing the responsible adult but he also saw the fiercy protectiveness that shone in the debts of his godfather's eyes.

"I will not do it again, I promise" Harry answered. He wouldn't need to. Next week he would be at Hogwarts – he could wait so long with the rest he needed to do.

"Thank you" and with that, Harry was again of the hook – well, at least with Sirius, because for the rest of the holidays a blue magical eye would follow Harry everywhere… but that, Harry did not know…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

In the same week also, a woman could be seen, looking satisfied at _The Quibbler _in her hands. It was exactly what she had needed to get the investigation started. She knew she had not to wait much longer. Soon there would be enough public protest to press for a trial for Sirius Black.

Amelia smiled, and then she started to read the article again. She could not get enough of it. Oh how she loved it that someone was finally pointing out the problems of their system!

The newest edition read:

_Dear Editor,_

_The last time you wrote me that there is no trial script of the convicted Sirius Black. Well, this fact got me hooked and I decided to look into it myself._

_So I went to the archive in the Ministry and researched Mr. Black. I really did not find anything that hints to a trial at all – not that I was surprised after all you told me that there had not been one to begin with but I still decided to check for myself. I also did not only research the trial script but everything I found about Mr Black. I even went so far to search newspaper articles from the time he was arrested._

_One article I found was especially interesting as it reminded me of something I heard Potter and his friends talking about some time ago. The article stated that Mr. Black killed thirteen Muggle and Peter Pettigrew, a friend of the late Potters. It also clearly stated, that "Mr. Black was found laughing at the crime scene, screaming that he had killed Lily and James Potter. He was arrested and brought to Azkaban right away."_

_At the end of last year I heard Potter and his friends talking and when I read these sentences I remembered, that Harry Potter clearly stated that "Peter Pettigrew was the one who slit his arm when he was forced to aid by the rebirth of Lord Voldemort." Of course there is the issue, that You-Know-Who might or might not be back. I do not want to judge who is right._

_Still, fact is: When Harry Potter really wanted to fabricate a story – why did he include a man who died fourteen years ago?! Wouldn't including this man make his story more unbelievable as it is? Of course I am no expert in lying and I do not pretend that I know what Potter is thinking, but I think that every person who is thinking a little bit logically would refrain from mentioning a dead wizard when he wanted his story to be believed._

_So why did he mention him at all?! There is Black on the run – why using dead Pettigrew?!_

_It cannot be the connection to his parents as they both were friends of the late Potters. And I honestly cannot think of another reason. When he wanted it to be not researchable he also could have used Mr. Black as Mr. Black cannot say anything against it._

_And then there is another fact I cannot understand. The day Sirius Black killed Peter Pettigrew; nothing was left of late Pettigrew except of a finger. I would like to know which curse Mr. Black has been using as I never heard of a curse like that. I asked my great-grandfather if he knew a curse like that and all he told me was: "I never heard about something like that. There are curses that can reduce a person to ashes or blow them up so that there is nothing left but little peaces of flesh, skin and bones. But letting them vanish except of a finger? No, that I never heard before." He also told me, that there are no curses that could even do something like that for an extension._

_Of course I did not just belief him so I started to search the library of my family for any course that could do anything like described in the newspaper. Out library is huge and contains hundredth of years of knowledge. Still, I found nothing._

_And really, just thinking about it makes me shake my head. When there really was a spell that blew Pettigrew up – then why was his finger found whole? Why wasn't there more damage? A spell like that should have whipped out the whole neighborhood and not just the streets. You don't believe me? Look it up in _Mafalda's Basic Knowledge of Magical Theory. _Magic is a force. You might be able to concentrate it on one object by extent, but the more force you use the more wild magic gets lose. There are few wizards that can control wild magic enough to stop it from blowing up everywhere around them. And even if Black was an exceptional wizard, I would dare to say that if his name isn't Dumbledore or You-Know-Who he would not be able to just blow up Pettigrew to such an extend without the destruction of the houses near by. And then there would still be the problem of the finger…_

_The last thing that confuses me at this case is that Mr. Black was never checked if he was bearing the Dark Mark. Shouldn't that have been the first thing to do? And don't tell me we were at war. There was plenty of time to lift a sleeve and look at the skin beneath it. The Dark Mark cannot be missed. So why was he just chucked into Azkaban?!_

_Of course there is still the problem of Mr. Black naming himself as the villain… But even that is an occurrence that can be found elsewhere. In the Muggle-world they know of a syndrome that would explain Mr. Black's yelling that "he is guilty in killing James and Lily Potter." It's called the Survivor- Syndrome. Just think about it like that: An Auror and his partner, who is a close friend, are checking houses for Death Eaters. The Auror is in charge and he tells his partner to check this house while he checks the next. So when the partner dies because in the house he was checking where Death Eaters the surviving Auror will feel guilty because he told his partner and friend to do it. He will blame himself for the death of his friend – even if he hasn't killed his friend himself._

_Now exchange Sirius Black with the Auror._

_Sirius Black tells the Potters to do something and they die. Pettigrew might be involved in the death of the Potters somehow as he is a follower of You-Know-Who (I am just filling in maybe-facts that fit, I am by no means telling you that it was like that), so he goes after Pettigrew. He tries to kill the traitor but is tricked by said one. That he is laughing and telling the Aurors that he "killed Lily and James Potter" would be a final result of the pressure of guilt and the inability to get revenge. Would he have been brought to St. Mungo's and would have gotten a Calming Draught he might have been able to explain fully what truly had happened._

_Of course I do not say that it was like that. This is merely a likely construct of an otherwise confusing story._

_I am sorry if I started to runt but I could not hold it in anymore after I found out all this stuff…_

_Oliver Twist_

Xeno Lovegood's answer was printed beneath and even Amelia could conclude that the editor in chief of _The Quibbler _had been hooked by the young man who questioned everything.

Amelia asked herself how much more were looking at the texts while hoping that Oliver Twist would not stop to write – simply because there finally was someone that asked some questions or simply because the articles made an interesting reading.

_Dear Mr. Twist,_

_I was really impressed by your reasoning. I went to _Flourish &amp; Blots _to confirm the things you wrote with _Mafalda's Basic Knowledge of Magical Theory._ Your explanation really fits exactly what the author is describing. I also confirmed in the Muggle-world your theory with the guilty feeling of Mr. Black. It is really fascinating what the Muggles have been researching. I was impressed with the depths of their knowledge of things we never have considered until now…_

_Well, back to the facts. You are not the only one who heard Harry Potter talking about dead Peter Pettigrew as if he was alive. My daughter also confirmed this fact with me and I am sure there are others as well that heard him. Your reasoning that Mr. Potter would have searched for a more believable man if he really wanted to believed is sound._

_So why did he use Peter Pettigrew and not Sirius Black? The only explanation I could come up with would be that Mr. Potter was telling the truth and it really had been Peter Pettigrew. So that would make You-Know-Who's return also more likable. And at the same time it would change the truth of the events of fourteen years ago…_

_But sadly it is not the journalist's place to find out the truth, it's the Auror's. All we can do is point them the way. Let's hope it's enough to let them look in this case again. I do not want to have an innocent prisoner in Azkaban – or even kissed._

_That would simply be horrible._

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Editor of _The Quibbler

Finally Amelia put aside the newspaper and returned to her normal work. She had not even really started when there was a knock on her door. She smiled and called the person in. It really didn't take all that long for Fudge to turn up…

"Amelia!" Fudge said while storming in. "I want you to get at trial for Black! I want the evidence of his guilt to be public knowledge! Do it – now!"

"Excuse me?" Amelia asked with a raised eyebrow while holding back a smile.

"I am swamped with Howlers! I want it to stop so you go and start up a trial! I want him to be judged publicly! And do it now, understood?!"

"There might be a chance that Black really isn't guilty at all, Minister" Amelia replied. The Minister just snorted.

"He is, don't worry. Dumbledore told me himself all these years ago. Just find the evidence and present it at the trial!" And with that Fudge left again.

Amelia leaned back in her chair. Finally – now she had just to find out the truth…

xXxXxXxXx

At another place at the same time an edition of _The Quibbler _was thrown on a desk.

Albus Dumbledore was not pleased with Oliver Twist.

Of course, Albus could not protest that it was long over time that Sirius Black got a trial. The problem was that the clearing of Sirius' name wouldn't suit Albus' plans at all. Albus needed Harry to live at his relatives. He needed his hero ready to eventually die for the greater good. Of course, Albus did not want Harry to die. The young boy had still a life ahead of him and he should be able to live it.

But Harry had also the responsibility to destroy Voldemort once and for all. And when Albus had to choose between the life of one child and the lives of thousands he would take the child's life.

"And there also is the problem that occurred on the trial-day", Albus thought. He still wasn't sure how Harry had found out about the laws and all. Hermione hadn't helped him and that he had found out by himself was unlikely. The problem was that Albus could just find one reasonable explanation: Harry had either access to Voldemort's memories or the Horcrux in Harry had started to possess the boy. Both explanations would not do well for Albus' plans.

"Well, I have to watch him when he returns to Hogwarts" Albus thought. When the teen was really loosing against the Dark Lord Albus would prefer to kill the teen himself then having a teenage mini-Voldemort living at Hogwarts.

"We still have time – and maybe there is a way to stop the connection between those two" Albus thought. He needed Harry intact to do what he needed to do. The only question was if Harry really needed to learn the arts of the mind. Albus would prefer to not teach the boy. He was not sure how it would end when he was unable to read the thoughts of the boy anymore.

After all, Harry and Voldemort had shared some mayor points in their early lives – Albus feared that Harry would finally fall in the same darkness Voldemort once had fallen into. And they really didn't need another dark lord at their hands…

xXxXxXxXx

Somewhere else an ex-prisoner of Azkaban was writing hurriedly a letter to the Director of Law Enforcement, one Amelia Bones. Normally, this ex-prisoner of Azkaban would not even have bothered with a letter like that. He was not one of the logical kind, so he never had thought of a way to present his own story. Instead he was one of the hands-on guys and he would have preferred to get out of his hiding place to search for the traitorous rat and then kill it. He had never thought to take a legal way to get himself cleared.

So when the article had come out in the _Witch's Weekly_ and _The Quibbler_, Sirius Black just had stared at it, not comprehending and not doing anything. It had been on his godson's advice – after his godson had cuffed him one or two times around his head – that Sirius Black finally had contacted Gringotts as a neutral go-between and then started to write his letter to Amelia Bones, filled with his side of the story.

Of course, the chances that he was really granted a trial were still unbelievable slim, but his godson had told him that he had to try…

Of course, Sirius Black being Sirius Black had a very… unusual first reaction after his godson had told him to try to get his name cleared.

When his godson had told him to do it, Sirius Black had stood up from the kitchen chair he had been sitting on and had walked to the door, taking down his old travel cloak while going.

"What in fire and wind's name are you doing?!" Harry cried, when Sirius Black opened the front door while putting on his cloak.

"I'm going to the Ministry to tell them I am not guilty" Sirius answered with a confused expression in his face. "That was what you wanted me to do, after all…"

Harry face palmed. Then he strode with purpose to his godfather and cuffed him around the head for the third time this evening.

"Are you insane, you stupid Gryffindor?!" Harry hissed. "What by earth and water are you thinking?! Or aren't you thinking at all because the space between your ears is actually empty?!"

Sirius just stared at Harry for a moment, before he slowly blinked and then muttered.

"That was creepy, Harry. For a moment I thought you were channeling Snape…"

Harry just cuffed him around his head for the forth time that day.

"If I am able to stop you by sounding like Snape – so be it. _He _at least wouldn't have run head first into danger without even stopping to think beforehand!"

"That's cruel, Harry!" this time Sirius Black sounded as if he was whining. "Absolutely cruel! How can you even think of comparing me to _Snape _of all people?!"

"If it works" Harry replied and then stirred his godfather back into the kitchen, silently praying that Sirius would not notice that his mother had unexplainable stayed silent while they had been talking in the entrance hall…

Harry was lucky. Sirius did not notice. Instead he was forced by his godson to write a letter to Amelia Bones, explaining his side of the story. He was also forced to contact the goblins so that Gringotts could act as a neutral ground between the two parties – there was after all still the 'kissed by a Dementor on sight' warrant for Sirius out there – and that definitely wasn't save for the ex-convict.

And so Sirius was sitting at the table, writing down his statement of the events fourteen years ago, while he was watched by his godson.

Neither of them were aware of the blue magical eye and the connected ears that had followed their whole conversation since Harry had purposed to Sirius to do something to get cleared by himself…

And different then Sirius, the ears that had followed their conversation were sharp enough to pick out the feeling of wrongness in the silence of the entrance hall.

The magical eye instead noticed the boy stopping before he entered the kitchen, the boy's eyes on the silent portrait on the wall. A tiny nod was addressed to said portrait, and then the kitchen door closed again, shielding the inhabitance from the normally shrieking voice of the quiet portrait.

"Interesting" the owner of the blue eye said. "Definitely interesting."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	24. Chapter 23: ca 900 AD To Trick Someone

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Ca. year 900 AD**

**To Trick Someone**

sss

The village was burning.

The day had begun like every day since the end of the goblin wars. After the peace treaty Sal had left the goblins to wander again. Anastasius instead had opted to stay a little bit longer and Sal had let him be because he knew that Anastasius loved to work in the archives. Sal on the other side was planning to go abroad, but until now he hadn't decided where he wanted to go exactly. He was not really sure if he wanted to see China again or if he would like to travel south. Maybe Africa was an option…

But his plans were put on hold when he saw the dense smoke above the trees.

So instead of following his plans and going to the coast, he changed directions to where the smoke polluted the air – finding a burning village.

He stared at it, scrutinizing it with his eyes. He had learned long ago that storming into a situation without knowing what to deal with was not the brightest way of action. So he activated his Basilisk-vision – using it was magically draining, as every kind of Firbolg-magic he could utilize… and especially draining was to activate his heat-sight without opening his second eyelids. But he had to, he could not kill innocents just because he was unfortunately looking at them at the moment…

First he could see nothing but smoke, then figures materialized in the thick smoulder, running through it, crying, screaming and shouting.

Sal's Basilisk-vision showed that the most of the villagers seemed assembled in the middle – probably on the market place – of the village. Which was odd. Why should they assemble there while their huts were burning?

Sal crept nearer, entering the village while casting a silent Illusion and Fire-proof spell on himself. He followed his Basilisk-vision, which showed him the silhouettes of the villagers even if it was slightly hindered by the warmth of the fire itself, and went to the market place.

There he found the villagers, huddled together, with the crying children behind their parents' legs. The outer circle were solely men, behind them the women with fear in their eyes, but determined and then the children and wounded.

The men had reaping hooks, axes, and rakes in their hands. Weapons. The only weapons a common mundane had – and that they were. Mundanes. A mundane village, fighting for its life.

The opponents were big, burly fellows, armed with axes, swords and other, real weapons – nothing make-shift like the villager ones.

Sal knew the garbs the invaders were wearing.

He had worn some of these clothes a long time ago – even if that had been long before he had entered Britain again.

Vikings.

Vikings out for prey.

And the villagers had found themselves in their carefully knotted net, unable to flee.

Sal sighed.

He knew that this time he would not be able to just butt in and come out alive. Even if the Vikings might not have brought a magician – they rarely did when being on the prowl – they would not be as easily intimidated like the sorcerers he had crossed half a hundred years before.

Sal looked again at the villagers, this time finding a man on the front row holding a wooden stick in his hands.

A sorcerer.

The man had apparently a broken leg and a very bad looking head injury, maybe he also had some broken ribs or some internal injury – Sal could guess as much because of the carefully reduced movements he made.

Just analysing the man lead to Sal shaking his head in dismay.

"Reckless" Sal mused stiffing a sigh while deciding on a curse of action. "Absolutely reckless. Even Anastasius would have thought first – even just for a moment – before running head on in this kind of situation and, by wind and fire, this boy is the most reckless person I ever met in the last thousand years! Or he was. This man definitely looks as if he has gotten head-on in this fight without thinking and getting the worst of it…"

Then he put aside his thoughts and returned to the current situation.

He had a good idea how to frighten the Viking. The only problem would be the villagers. They also would be frightened by him – but with this absolutely fearless – and maybe a little idiotic – sorcerer in their front-row…

xXxXxXxXx

Sal stepped out of his hiding-place, lifting the Illusion-charm while doing so.

His long black cloak started to shimmer, flogging out in black fog. He had put up his hood, shadowing his face while enchanting his green eyes to glow out of the dark beneath his hood. His long staff, previously shrunk and in his staff-holster, now in his left hand, the old wood glowing with silver runes. His cloak was open in the front, showing gleaming daggers and knifes and the potions and poisons he carried on his silver belt, made out of dozens of silver leafs.

His tunic was also black, seamed and embroidered with emerald green, showing a hissing Basilisk, ready to strike.

Of course the most of the intimidation clothes were transfigured, but even a Viking magician would have trouble to undo Sal's spelling. The only disadvantage was that the spells Sal had used definitely belonged to the more draining ones, as they were born out of his mother tongue, Parseltonge…

Not, that Sal knew any other spells that could accomplish something like that. Sal's staff was not made to aid Sal in his every day spells and because of this his spells normally needed another magical backing. Parseltongue was one of those, runes another – but runes could not be used for something like transfiguration of clothes…

But at least a transfiguration in Parseltongue had the side effect, that it not only looked real but also intimidated a little without too much magical backing…

"Who…?" Sal whispered in a husky voice which was enchanted to carry his words far beyond the fire, echoing from every corner of the village. "Who has dared to wake me in my sleep?"

The scene in front of him froze. The Viking turned to Sal, looking him over with unsure eyes. Sal smirked inwardly.

"You…" he said, looking a one of the Viking while using a more ancient tongue of the North – still understandable for the Viking, but nevertheless foreign sounding. "Is it you?" And while saying this a single rune was send to the Viking who toppled over, suddenly covered in blood. Sal had not hurt him deeply – it were minor wounds – but hurting the Viking wasn't Sal's goal. Scaring them was.

"It isss you" he hissed in Norse, letting in his voice the sound of the Basilisk. "But it isssn't you alone…"

His blasting eyes looking at the Viking next to the wounded. This time he didn't hold back. Without hesitating he opened his second eyelids, killing the Viking on the spot. Draining for Sal, but absolutely terrifying for those that saw it…

"You trampled on my mother's grave" he hissed while sending a rune to the Viking on the other side of the wounded. This one screamed when his hands suddenly blistered as if he had held them in the flames dancing around Sal.

"You…" he said, looking at the screaming Viking, his clear eyelids in place and closed again. "You destroyed my brother's urn…"

Now panic broke lose in the rows of the Viking.

Sal knew what they saw. They had seen his power and without a magician on their own side they interpreted his actions the only way they could: as the actions of one of the jötnar, disrupted while having a life on the earth.

And the jötnar where monster when angered. They might not always be declared as evil in Norse mythology but they also weren't always the good guys.

And Sal played with their fears, standing up to his full high, letting his eyes blast with anger.

"I will not show mercy with those who have wronged me" he hissed, his voice rough and icy. "You will perish for your deeds."

His staff lit with light as bright as the sun, bathing the fire-stricken village in evil-looking shadows, showing ghostly non-existent creatures creeping through the flames, searching, hunting.

Another one of the Viking was felled by Sal's deadly green gaze and suddenly the Viking fled. Some of them even threw away his weapons just to get away even faster, others bowed to Sal and lay down their booty to sooth his wrath before also turning around fleeing.

Within minutes the village was empty of Vikings.

Sal said nothing, his gaze still lingering on the villagers. He saw them shiver, eyes still filled with fear. Even the sorcerer seemed affected by Sal's performance.

Sal sighed, then he stepped fully out of the flames. He looked at the still burning village. He knew they had to put out the fire. But he could not do it alone, so he turned back to the villagers while cancelling the charms he had put on his hood and eyes.

He felt a little bit light headed – using rune-based magic was definitely less draining then using magic without a real focus… it were times like that that let Sal wish for the wand he had once carried – even if it was a thousand years since he last had it in his hand…

Then he pushed his hood down, showing his human face.

"I will need help to put out the fire" he said casually.

The sorcerer stared at him, his eyes big as saucers. And then his barking laughter filled the air.

"You… you aren't a demon" he said, still laughing a little hysterically, with painful gasps sprinkled in his laughter.

Sal snorted.

"Of course not" he said. "But I somehow had to trick them to get them away. I am by no means strong enough to take them all on and come out alive."

The sorcerer laughed again, but his laughter had also another good thing. The villagers relaxed slightly.

"How?" The sorcerer asked.

"Later" Sal said. "The fire first."

"And then the wounded – even you, Mr Reckless-Dunderhead-Sorcerer" Sal thought, but said nothing more.

"Of course" The sorcerer said, turning to the cottages and started to water them.

Sal let him be. He himself bent down to his knees, writing runes in the earth. He intellectually knew that using a ritual for putting out the fire would use up more of his rapidly decreasing magical resources – but it was rune work and because of that not as draining as the other things Sal had done before.

"Next time give me a thousand stasis-runes" Sal grumbled to himself soundlessly "but not something like that again. I am sure I would feel better with them then now!" Not that using runes did not eat on his magical reserves…

The villagers, still wary of him, also turned to help with the fire. But some of them stayed near Sal, watching him, protecting the wounded and toddlers who couldn't help.

One of the eldest even crept near Sal and looked down on his work.

Finally he asked.

"What are you doing… lad?" Stopping slightly before using 'lad' to address Sal. "Shouldn't you also help putting out the fire?"

"I do" Sal said calmly. "I am… a sorcerer… like… well… him…" He gestured to the other sorcerer, slightly unsure how they called sorcerers these days.

"You mean a Lord, gifted by the gods?" The old man asked.

"Yes" Sal smiled slightly at the description the old man used for the other sorcerer.

"You have no wand to channel your gift" The old man said.

"I don't" Sal said, not bothering to say that his staff and the wand the sorcerer was using were basically the same. Not that they worked the same – his staff could not aid him in charms or transfigurations, but was solely there for rituals and rune-drawings… still, it was the same somehow…

"I am a gifted Lord, but my kind is called a druid."

Sal wasn't sure if the mundane still had this term. They were starting to be Christianised after all. Maybe a druid was now a demon – Sal couldn't know. He had been too engaged in the war between sorcerers and goblin to have to do much with mundane.

"A druid?" The old man asked. "One of the old, all mighty healers?"

Almighty. Well at least he wasn't a demon…

"Yes, even if I am not almighty" He finally said. "And because I am different then him…" He nodded to where the sorcerer was putting out the fire. "… I have to do things differently."

"So you aren't one of the true druids" The old man concluded after Sal denied the 'almighty'.

"My father was a druid" Sal said, taking a different approach. "He died a long time ago. All I know about the way of the druids I know from him."

When he said that, the old man nodded knowingly.

"You were too young when he died, so you are now a druid, but aren't almighty, because you could not learn all of the druids' way."

Well, at least the man had accepted Sal as a druid who wasn't almighty…

"Something like that" Sal said and stood up. Then he picked up his staff to send magic through the drawn runes on the ground. They lit up with golden sparkles and vanished, building ritual-circles around the still burning houses.

Sal powered them with his magic and blue shields suddenly surrounded the fires, putting it out by stealing it the oxygen.

"Impressive" the sorcerer rasped, coming over to were Sal was standing. He had conjured himself a walking stick on which he was leaning himself heavily.

Sal snorted.

"It is more impressive that you can still walk" He answered in return. "Everyone else with your injuries would be lying flat – or even dead on the ground."

The other sorcerer shrugged.

"I don't think you know enough about injuries to diagnose that." He answered nonchalant while taking breaths that were filled with his pain.

At that Sal raised an eyebrow.

"Reckless dunderhead" he thought. "Definitely worse then Anastasius – far worse then Anastasius…"

"I am a Healer, Master Sorcerer" he said with a still raised eyebrow. "I am sure I am able to distinguish between a lethal wound and a minor injury."

The other one stared at him, surprise clearly visible on his face.

"Does that mean, that by all people who could have helped me, a _Healer _did – someone who could not battle even for his life?!"

Sal snorted at this, but decided not to protest. He had other things to do now.

"Lie down" he said sternly. "You can sulk later. _After _I healed you."

"But…" the other one started.

Sal made a rough gesture with his hand and the suborn sorcerer found himself toppling over when his cane suddenly vanished. Sal caught him before he fell and helped him to lie down.

"There we go" he said lightly as if nothing happened. "I knew you were clever enough to follow my advice."

The other sorcerer growled. Sal smiled at him and flicked his staff.

The colourful net that expanded over the injured sorcerer, told Sal everything he needed to know. Normal sorcerers were unable to understand the swirling patterns and colourful clusters that spread in a cupola over the body of the injured sorcerer but Sal had invented the cupola, so he knew exactly what he saw. He did not like what the cupola had to say about his patient.

Said sorcerer looked at the net with curious eyes.

"What is that?" he asked.

"A spell to show me where you are injured." Sal replied while reading the runes and hieroglyphs that flowed along the colourful lines.

"You can read that?" the other sorcerer asked impressed.

"It is my spell, of course I can" Sal answered, rolling his eyes. "And you are in a very sorry shape. I am impressed that you have managed not to bleed to death until now."

And he really was. A normal person would not have stood up after receiving such injuries. The other sorcerer had a heavy concussion, several cracked ribs, one of them even puncturing the lung, internal bleeding from several other wounds, a knife-wound in the stomach and the predicted broken leg. Every normal person just would have laid down and died.

How the hell had this dunderhead managed to stand until now – not even talking about doing magic or walking?!

"So… is it bad?" The sorcerer asked.

"When you wouldn't still talk I'd say you're dead." Sal answered dryly. "As you are still talking: How about saying good-bye?"

The other sorcerer stayed for a moment silent after that.

"So there is nothing you can do for me anymore?" he finally asked.

Sal snorted.

"I will try" he answered, rolling his eyes again, "Just don't ask for a miracle. You might survive – but I will not predict in what state you will be afterward."

"Sure, try your worst" the sorcerer answered. "Nothing lost when you don't succeed, is there? I am dying anyway."

"And I am here again to try to do a miracle. Why is it just always me?!" Sal groaned inwardly. That seemed exactly like the last time. The only difference was that the injured one was an adult sorcerer and his injuries were even grave than the goblin-boy's. It was just Salvazsahar's luck that had brought him here…

Sal sighed, then he scribbled new runes in the earth and conjured a stone-bed.

"How bad are the other villagers injured?" he asked the old man.

"Except of the dead, it seems nothing grave." The man answered. "And the more injured ones are treated by our healer."

Sal looked back to the wounded. De facto there was an old woman there, treating them. Sal decided that that would have to be enough for now and returned to his runic circle.

"What is this?" The old man asked, looking at the carvings etched in the ground.

"A runic circle" Sal said. "I need it for my healing."

"Our healer doesn't need something like that" the old man said sceptically.

"Your healer isn't trying to beg death to leave a man alive." Sal answered while flowing the now ashen-faced sorcerer on the stone-bed.

"He does not look like he is dying." The old man said.

"He is wearing his clothes over his fatal injuries." Sal answered. "He may not look like it, but I can see death lingering in his shadows."

Sal knew he was playing with superstition, but he was not interested to fully explain the injuries the sorcerer had got – especially after it seemed now like said man had stopped living on adrenaline alone and was succumbing to his lethal wounds.

"I hate healing dunderheads like him" Sal muttered, but entered the circle.

"Don't enter. You will be at death's mercy if you do." He told the man.

"I will not" the man hastily assured. "And I will stop anyone else from entering, too."

"That would be appreciated." Sal answered. Of course he had erected a runic shield to prevent anyone from entering, but it would save his energy if no-one would even try. And energy he would need. Putting out the fire had been tiresome as he had depleted his magic severely beforehand just to create the illusions and transfigurations without having a focus like the wand he once used to have – healing these injuries would deplete his magic to the very basics. He would not really be able to stomach more.

xXxXxXx

Of course, nothing had to be simple with the sorcerer he was healing now.

After Sal had closed the circle and started the stasis, the vanished the sorcerer's clothes – just to get alert a minute later that the heart of the sorcerer decided to stop.

"So much for stasis" Sal cursed in Parseltongue. "You just had to go and give me even more work!"

Of course the sorcerer didn't answer.

Sal conjured a bowl and filled it with water – which he sterilized and heated with a spell – from his water bottle, spelled his hands clean and disinfected and then called his thunderbird power. A lightning shot from his palm which was lying on the chest of the sorcerer – a lightning based on magic Sal had not want to spend. Like phoenix tears and the heat-sight of the basilisk without opening his eyelids it was one of his Family Magicks – and utterly draining... Electricity flowed through the body of the injured, letting him twist – not that he noticed, unconscious as he was – and made his heart beat once more. Then it stopped again and Sal cursed. With his left hand he called the coloured net again.

"Great" he thought. "He has lost too much blood."

Putting down the rucksack he was carrying beneath his cloak, he opened it and took out his potion kit. Without trying to look through it manually he summoned a blood-replacing potion and some others. One to let his patience for a few hours fall into a magical coma and the other to stabilize the functions of the internal organs.

With his other hand he carefully extracted one of his knifes. Letting it go mid-air so that it flew with magic alone he conjured a flame and sterilized it. Then he coaxed the unconscious sorcerer to drink the potions and after that shocked the heart again.

It stuttered, stuttered, stuttered and then started to beat regularly again.

"First crisis prevented" Sal muttered and righted his knife on the chest of the sorcerer.

Sal took a deep breath, activated some concealing runes and checked the sterilizing ones. Then he cut, opened the torso of the sorcerer and carefully looked at the wounds he found.

He felt himself getting sick.

Until now he had seldom opened the chest of another being to treat its injuries manually. It was his last resort, but he knew he was unable to treat this time what he did not see. He could miss something grave when doing it blindly.

"Memo to myself: find a spell to look in a body without having to open it" Salvazsahar murmured silently in Cymráeg while starting to clean the open chest from blood. He looked at the injuries the sorcerer and fetched two of his herbs, letting them absentminded fall into the hot water bowl he had conjured before.

Then he spelled his hands wordlessly clean again and started to touch the single organs. The net over the sorcerer changed, so that it showed him the injuries of the touched organ instead the injuries of the whole body.

With careful fingers he drew runes and hieroglyphs on the single organs, let drops of potion fall and mended them with spells. It was a tiring work and Salvazsahar hated it – even more today, because he was starting to feel the effects of his previous spells now.

He shut out the pain, when his body began to ache, after he had drawn runes on the ankles, wrists and forehead of the sorcerer.

Then he cut his own wrists to use his blood for drawing other runes on the body of the sorcerer. The runes glowed and faded. They would help the sorcerer to heal as soon as Sal finished the ritual.

Now came the next critical part.

He took the bowl of herb-tea and washed the organs in the healing lotion until they were healed again.

Then he mended the broken rips. The lung however was something no potion or spell in the world could mend.

There was just one thing Sal could do.

He cried.

His tears were dropping on the lung, mending it like every phoenix tears in the world would do. He felt his magic draining, when he healed with his tears. Even if his abilities were inherited, it was still his magic that had to support them…

"I will hunt you down in afterlife if you even think of dying" Sal threatened. "I hate depleting my magic like that. If it is for nothing you will forever regret dying!"

He knew he was uttering an empty threat, but he did it anyway. Somehow he had to let out his frustration with this lucky, idiot sorcerer.

He checked on the whole body again and sighed. The worst was mended. There was no sign of a deadly injury any more. The concussion was getting better thanks to the blood-runes Sal had painted with his own blood on the sorcerer's forehead and even if his leg was still broken, the first signs of infection it had previously vanished.

Now he just had to close the torso again…

Sal mended the sternum he had to break to be able to treat the lungs. After that he looked his work over again. Nothing was out of place, all was healed.

He carefully mended the layers of muscles until he felt his magic acting up. After that he simply conjured a needle and disinfected it before stitching the rest of the open skin – the skin he had cut himself and the skin the other knife had cut. Luckily the other knife hadn't been poisoned. Sal wasn't sure if he would have been able to rescue the life of the sorcerer if it had been…

Finally he corrected the positions of the leg-bones and stabilized it with a simple wood-bandage construction. He would later mend it, as soon as he had enough magic to do it…

Sal swayed, feeling absolutely exhausted.

He destroyed the ritual circle and saw how the lines and finally the stone-bed vanished, leaving the sorcerer lying on the floor.

Then he simply toppled over and lost conscious.

xXxXxXx

When Sal woke up again, he was still lying on the ground, but now a blanket was on top of him.

"How are you?" a voice asked and Sal's gaze shifted to look at the person who had spoken. It was the sorcerer he had been tending.

The sorcerer was sitting next to him, also a blanket over his knees.

"You did not move around?" Sal asked anxious.

"The healer forbid" the sorcerer answered grumbling. "She said that if I even dare to leave this place she would bind me like a dog with a lash."

Sal sighed relieved.

"You could have made my work undone if you did" he sighed and suddenly the sorcerer looked guilty.

"Oh…" he said, stuttering, "I thought… since you used magic to heal me… or that's what the others told me… I… well, I…"

"Even magic cannot heal fatal injuries like yours without time" Sal answered, feeling still exhausted.

The sorcerer looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"You still look like a ghost." He finally commented.

"Healing people with a ritual like I did is extremely exhausting" Sal answered. "I had to depend solely on my own magic with it. Normally a sorcerer can use some outer magic to help his own – like the magic your wand contains – but in a ritual like that it's just your magic, your soul and your blood. You can uses herbs and potions and spells – but they all depend on your own magic. They can support it, but it's nothing like using a wand…"

He said nothing about the drain his magic had suffered long before he even started healing. It would not do any good to tell a man who still could turn out to be a foe about his weaknesses…

"Ritual…" the sorcerer uttered.

"So it was Dark Magic that rescued my life?" He did sound like he didn't know how to feel about that.

"No" Sal answered. "Dark Magic is something totally different."

"You said you used your blood – that is Dark Magic for me."

"I also used my tears and my hands" Sal said, rolling with his eyes, "they are also part of my body. Is using them also Dark Magic?"

"Blood contains the very essence of our magic. It is line-theft to even try to use another sorcerer ones… or when you change it…"

"Your own blood did not change when I used my blood on you" Sal said tiredly. "Your body might contain a little bit of my magic for the next few weeks, but after that it's all back to normal. There is no constant harm done."

"But rituals…"

"It was a healing ritual" Sal interrupted grumpily. "I am a druid. I never learned much wand-waving. I cannot use a wand to heal – rituals are the only way I know."

"Stop!" the sorcerer said astonished. "What do you mean: rituals are the only way you know?! Did your parents never teach you to use a wand – did they never teach you that reading the old ritual-text and trying to use them will lead you on the path of evil?!"

"On the path of evil?" Sal asked confused.

"Everyone knows!" The sorcerer answered, eyes big like saucers. "When you try to do the old rituals you will lose your mind!"

And suddenly the puzzle in Sal's mind solved itself.

"You have still texts of the druids?" he asked.

"Of course" the sorcerer answered. "But no-one is allowed to use them…"

"…because no-one has the protection anymore to use them correctly" Sal filled in absentminded.

"Protection?" the sorcerer sounded confused.

"The first thing a druid does, is learning his protection." Sal answered. "Without the protection a druid is unable to control the magic of the ritual and finally loses his mind."

"Protection…" the sorcerer said again, now astonished. "There is a protection before using a ritual?!"

"There is" Sal answered. "It's a constant protection every druid has for his whole life. A druid does start on it as soon as his magic has matured the first time. He must have at least the second layer until he matures the second time. When he doesn't he will never be able to be a druid."

"Protection…" This time the sorcerer shook his head. "How come you know of something like that when everyone else doesn't?!"

Sal shrugged.

"My father taught me." He answered. "I finished my full protection when I turned eighteen – still before I matured the second time, so using a ritual for me is save. I will not lose my mind – and I will not turn dark except I do it voluntarily."

"So… you simply can use all the rituals in the books?" the sorcerer asked.

"Uh… I don't know" Sal finally answered. "I have some books from my father and mother – but the most rituals I know I have never written down – and I also don't think father has ever thought of it."

"So… these rituals just exist in your head?" the sorcerer asked astonished.

"Well, I can hardly check the books every time I need to use them – sometimes there are life-threatening situations like yours. You would have died if I would have had to check books first." Sal answered not sure what was so unbelievable.

"Uh… but some of the rituals are really complicated – how can you remember all that?"

Now it was Sal staring at him.

"How would you know that?"

"Uh… I have some texts at Gringoods" he answered finally. "They are family-heirlooms but my sister and I decided to put them away so that no-one would consider using them."

Now Sal was really interested.

"You have a vault at Gringoods?" he asked. He knew that the goblin-bank did not deal with sorcerers so how…

"Uh… yes… uh… something to do with family" the sorcerer answered nervously, cautiously. "I know, sorcerers normally doesn't but… well, my family is the only one allowed… something to do with… uh… how did the goblins put it after we aided them and got permission for a vault? Uh… our clan-leader?"

"Clan-leader?" Of course Sal knew what a clan-leader was. It was the leader of a goblin-family, similar to the lord and Head of House in sorcerer families. But normally a Head of House was not accepted as a Clan-leader by the goblins. And sorcerers did not get vaults unless…

"You're a LeFay" Sal said, understanding. He was the clan-leader of the LeFay-family in the eyes of the goblins. He himself had a vault and of course no goblin would make a fuss when a family-member of a clan-leader also wanted one.

"Uh… yes" the sorcerer answered. "Godric LeFay at your and your family's service. Also even if I don't understand what my last name has to do with a Gringoods-vault."

"Everything" Sal answered. "You're a member of Morganaadth's family – as such you belong to the Clans. And all members of the clans are allowed to have a vault in Gringoods."

"A member of Morganaadth's family?" Godric asked. "Who, by Myrddin, is Morganaadth?!"

Sal stared at Godric.

_By Myrddin?!_

They were using his father's name to swear?!

It was odd, absolutely odd. Of course, Sal also once had said "by Merlin", but that was long ago. Hearing it again, even if his father's name was still 'Myrddin', was definitely strange for him.

"Uh… well…" Sal did not really know what he should answer to Godric's question. Should he simply say 'I am Morganaadth'?!

"Uh… Morganaadth, that's the goblin name of your clan-leader." He finally said.

"Hu? But isn't the clan-leader something like a Head of the House?" Godric asked.

"Yes."

"So shouldn't the Head of the House be the clan-leader?"

"Well… that's complicated" Sal finally said. "He… he is Morgana's heir, but he isn't yet the Head of the House."

"Oh… I know that" Godric answered and showed Sal a ring he had just once seen before. "Look, I am the Head of the House, so there is no way he could be."

Sal stared at the ring.

"So you are not only a member of the family, you're the Head" he stated, still looking at the ring.

So this was one of his ancestors…

"Yes" Godric said and his death-green eyes met Sal's. "But you still haven't said who you are."

Sal blushed.

"Forgive me" he said, fighting the blush. "I was just stunned, that you're a LeFay – and I forgot. I am Salvazsahar Emrys, at your service."

"Salazar Emrys? As in Myrddin Emrys?!" Godric asked astonished and now eying Sal critically.

"Uh… yes…" Sal finally said. "He is my…" He stopped. He could not say 'father' because Godric would not believe him, but he also could not say 'ancestor' because it simply felt wrong.

"I… I mean he was a relative" he finally changed his sentence.

"Relative?" Godric asked grinning. "The right word would be 'ancestor', my friend."

"When you think so" Sal answered shrugging. "And my name is Salvazsahar, not 'Salazar'."

Godric just waved at the correction.

In that moment the old healer reached them.

"So you are awake" she said to Sal. Sal nodded and said. "It was tiresome to rescue him" while he pointed at Godric.

"So I believe" the old woman answered, looking Sal over critically.

"When I was young I once saw a young man just like you. He rescued my sister after she was wounded by a bear. It was by chance that he came by to rescue her. He came from a battlefield, his clothes ripped, he himself bloody and tired. But as soon as he found my sister he did all he could to rescue her." She told them.

"Did he do it?" Godric asked interested.

"Yes" the old woman said. "And he was the first who taught me about healing." And with that she looked back at Sal who blushed again. He could remember the incident, even if he would have never combined the old healer with the scared little girl from that time.

When he blushed, she smiled and Sal knew he was busted.

He shook his head and glanced at Godric. She also glanced at him and nodded shortly.

"I was never able to thank him for rescuing her, though" she continued, still staring at Sal. He smiled.

"I am sure he knows how you feel" he answered. "And I am sure he appreciates what you are doing for me."

"I did nothing for you" the old woman said still smiling.

"Oh, you did." Sal answered. "You stopped a dunderhead from standing up while I was unconscious. That's definitely help enough."

"Well, I remembered, that he did not let my sister stand up for another day – and the wounds of my sister were less life-threatening then Godric's." And with that she stared Godric down who got as red as a tomato.

"You know I was on my way to my sister and my fiancée" he said with puppy dog eyes. "I promised them to reach them this week. I had not planned to get to be Viking-prey on the way there."

"You were not 'Viking-prey' as you put it" the old woman said fondly. "You had left us already when the Viking arrived. You just returned here to help us."

"And let me guess – he ran straight in the battle" Sal said raising an eyebrow.

"That he did" the old woman answered smiling. "There is a reason why everyone calls him Gryffindor."

Sal nearly chocked on the air.

"Excuse me?!" he asked, staring at Godric. The other sorcerer shrugged.

"You know… Gryffindor – like 'gift of the griffin'. They named me that after I… well… trickled a dragon…" he answered Sal.

Sal just stared.

"How gets one called 'gift of the griffin' after trickling a dragon? And how come anyone gets the idea to even trickle a dragon?!"

"Well… that's a long story" Godric said. "The short version is, that I had a bet with my sister's fiancé Peverell Grim – even if he wasn't her fiancé at that time. So I went to trickle the dragon… well… and when the dragon woke… I uh… I would have been dead if there hadn't been this griffin… and… it… I think it wanted the gold of the dragon for itself or something like that… uh and… the result is that I got away and also brought some treasures with me. Since then all villagers around here call me 'Gryffindor' – because the griffin gave me the gift to live a little bit longer…"

"Aha…" Sal said and then shook his head. "Alright…You have just proven me that you are definitely mentally ill."

"I told you it was a bet!" Godric said sulking. "And I was eleven winters old! I was young, stupid and reckless."

"Well, congratulation! Yet you are just stupid and reckless – you have improved!" Sal snorted and the old woman laughed.

"Godric is a good lad" she said. "But you are right, stranger. He is reckless."

"His name is Salazar, Aunty" Godric piped in. "I am sure you are allowed calling him that."

Sal wanted to insist, that his name was _not_ Salazar but after he corrected Godric three days in a row he just gave up. It was like Godric did not want to listen.

Finally, a week later, Godric was well enough to travel. He was grumpy and insisted that his sister and his betrothed would kill him for coming to late, but Sal was firm and so Godric stayed until his wounds had healed.

"So… where are you going now, Salazar?" Godric asked while packing his stuff. Sal just shrugged.

"I don't know" he answered. "I hadn't decided when I stopped by to rescue you."

"So you have nowhere to go?"

Sal just shrugged again.

"I don't." he answered.

"What's with your family? Aren't they gonna miss you?"

"I don't have family anymore."

"Well, then how about travelling with me until you know where you want to go?"

Sal just hesitated one moment, then he said.

"It would be better. Who knows what you would do next when left alone."

And it was this decision that would fix his coming way for the next decades.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	25. Chapter 24: ca 900 AD Have Relatives

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_I re-wrote the chapter before a little bit because someone mentioned that Sal thinking in Hogwarts terms after a thousand years is somehow odd – and I think he is right. I also did a poor job explaining why Sal was drained after healing Godric but not after working on the battle fields, so I tried to change that as well. So for those who asked: the problem is the magic he used. His healing is based on runes – and runes are a focus. The transfiguration etc that Sal did the previous chapter is just based on his will – and without a focus using magic is a lot more draining then with a focus. Sal's staff is not a wand. He cannot use spells with it and because of that his staff cannot aid him in spell-magic. Also, Sal does not know any spells (except those he knew when he was still Harry, and those he can't truly use) so he has to rely on Parseltongue and wandless magic to do the things he did. And that is definitely more draining then using runes._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Ca. 900 AD**

**Have Relatives And You Don't Need Enemies**

sss

On the way to Godric's betrothed Sal learned a lot about the wizarding world. He had lived with the goblins the last sixty years so he never had truly learned how the sorcerers were thinking and acting this century.

One of the improvements the sorcerers had made, were the wands they were carrying now. And with the newly invented wands sorcerers could finally cast spells with them – not like Sal who used his staff solely in rituals to draw runes, to chant and so on. There were also first spells that did not base on runes anymore – even if the major part in casting was still drawing runes in the air.

When Godric caught Sal scrutinizing him while doing magic, he finally asked Sal.

"What are you looking at?"

"Your casting" Sal answered.

"Why?"

Sal shrugged.

"It's interesting" he answered. "I have not seen someone using his wand like that…" There he stopped before saying anything that would bust him and the fact that he was a time traveller…

"What do you mean? How do you cast if not like that?!" Godric said a little bit stumped.

Sal just shrugged again.

"I normally use rituals – or wandless magic to get what I want. Some things I might not be able to do at all" he answered seemingly unconcerned. "I am a druid. I never learned how to be a…"

"Sorcerer" Godric suplied, staring at him.

One moment there was silence between them, then Godric started to speak again.

"So…" he finally said. "So that means you cannot cast spells like I do?"

"Yes" Sal answered. "My staff would not let me do it."

"Can I see… your staff…"

Sal hesitated, then he pulled it out of his wand-holster and unshrunk it.

When Godric took it he hissed.

"You alright?" Sal asked concerned. He had never given his staff to anyone so he did not know how it would feel to anyone but him.

"Yeah" Godric answered, his eyes fixed on Sal's staff. "But it reached out for my magic as soon as I took it. It did do nothing – but it felt really, really strange… you know… as if your staff was sentient somehow…"

"It did?!" Sal asked astonished. He could feel the connection to his staff even now but he never had thought that his staff would reach out to another ones magic.

"Yes" Godric said. "For a moment it felt as if it wanted to harm me – but then the feeling just stopped…"

"Oh."

"Maybe it would have harmed me if I had taken it without your consent."

"That might be" Sal answered shrugging. "Normally you do not give away your staff to anyone except maybe blood-relatives you trust. A staff is attuned solely to your own magic. Another one cannot use it."

"How so?" Godric asked fascinated.

"Cores" Sal answered shrugging. "It contains parts of creatures you are descendent from. The cores base on the major creatures your mother and your father are descendants of. Normally that combination is different enough to tune your staff solely to you. And of course your magic is imbedded in it after you have used it for a while…"

"Cores – as in 'you have more than one or two'?!"

"Yes" Sal smirked. "My staff contains eight."

"Eight?!"

"Yes. But I am an _Olde _one and the son of a Firbolg-born so my staff is an exception."

"Firbolg-born?"

"The son of two Firbolgs" Sal tried to explain, but Godric just looked at him confused. "Firbolg – like Phoenixes and dragons?!"

This time understanding lit Godric's eyes.

"Ah… you're talking about pure-bloods!" Sal nearly chocked on his own salvia. Pure-bloods?! The last time he had heard this word was over a thousand years ago when he still had been living in the future… And it definitely had meant something different at that time!

Godric did not notice his reaction at all, instead he looked again at the staff in his hands before handing it back to Sal.

"And a descendant of Myrddin Emrys" Godric said, continuing their conversation as if nothing happened – well for him nothing_ did_ happen... "Whatever magic you possess – I am sure it definitely is not normal…"

Sal just shrugged and shrunk his staff again to put it away. He had long ago given up on being 'just Sal'... or 'just Harry'…

After that incident Godric tried to teach Sal to use a wand – but his teaching was mostly fruitless because of the lack of a wand on Sal's side.

Finally, some weeks later, they reached the later British part of the island and with it the home of Godric's sister and her husband, the brother of Godric's betrothed.

"Here we are" Godric said, looking at the castle that indicated money. "Let's meet my relatives."

"I don't think you need me anymore" Sal said shrugging. "And I do not belong here – so why should I intrude?"

"You rescued my life – and you are fun to be with, so why shouldn't you?" Godric countered and then nearly pushed Sal inside.

When they reached the Great Hall of the castle, Godric just banged open the doors and cried. "Hullo! I'm back!"

In the hall Sal could see three persons sitting at a table, eating. All three looked up when the doors met the walls. Their gaze first locked with Godric's, then turned to Sal.

"And you have brought someone with you" a young man with raven black, unruly hair and warm brown eyes finally commended. "Did you pick him up – or did he pick you up?"

"Uh… well, Peverell… It might have been me that needed picking up…" Godric answered and shoved Sal forward. "But that doesn't matter. I can repay him for rescuing my life."

"Rescuing your life?! What have you been doing, Godric Medrawd Harryjames?!"

Sal nearly cringed himself when he heard the outraged voice of the tall female with long black hair and dark, nearly black eyes. She had a few striking, parallel scars at her left hand, which looked like a bird of prey had hit her with its claws.

Her voice was cool and somehow imbedded a slightly frightening tone. That she used a part of Sal's own name did not help at all.

"Well, at least I now know that my name was in my family long before I was born" he thought sarcastically. "And I even have the honour to be named after the Founder of my house in Hogwarts…"

"Nothing, my dear, nothing" Godric tried to sooth the woman.

"Nothing?" the other woman in the room asked. She had striking red hair and brilliant blue eyes. "That's a lame excuse, my dear brother – and definitely a lie."

Sal snickered at the eyes that were scrutinizing Godric.

The last weeks he had learned, that the Founder of Gryffindor House was stupidly brave and honourable but also a fellow no-one really could hate. He was a really sunny character, laughing and joking all the time. Normally his charm worked to help him out of situations like the one Godric was in now – but normally the others were not immune to his charm.

"Well… it's… it's long forgotten" Godric rumbled. "And it wasn't really grave… nothing life-threatening. Really…"

This time Sal snorted.

"I had to practically bind you for a week to your bed – and you tell them it was nothing life-threatening?!" he said while raising an eyebrow. "Really, Godric?! Maybe I should tell you exactly to which length I had to go to help you survive – and don't forget, I am a healer. I am trained to rescue lives."

The others now looked at Sal.

"You're a healer?" Godric's sister asked interested.

Sal nodded.

"I am."

"How long have you been a healer?"

Sal blinked at that question and asked himself why she wanted to know, but then he shrugged and answered.

"Several years" he answered. "And I know what I am talking about. I was a healer working in the war with the goblins."

"So you are experienced" the other woman, Godric's betrothed, said now scrutinizing him.

"I think I am" Sal answered shrugging. "But I do not see why you need to know that…"

The women looked at each other.

Then Godric's betrothed spoke up again.

"Do you have to be somewhere or do you have plans for the next years?"

Sal stared at her, then he shrugged again mentally. Anastasius was still by the goblins, so he did not need Sal at the moment – or at least not often. Sal did not delude himself thinking that his son would stay away from him for the next decades. It was more likely that Anastasius would turn up in at least five or six years, clingy like a small child and wishing to be fed again… after all, Anastasius was still not all grown up yet and because of that had still sometimes the urge to return to his parent to be fed again – and Anastasius would find him wherever he was, the bond between Firbolg-child and Firbolg-parent ensured that…

Still – Sal was free to do what he liked even if Anastasius would decide to turn up again…

"No" he finally answered the question. "I do not have any plans."

The answer was a Cheshire grin and a slightly worried feeling settled in Sal's stomach.

"How about working for us?" Godric's sister asked. "We would need someone like you…"

"I doubt you will be hurt often enough that I would have to do much" Sal answered sincerely.

"Well, maybe" the sister said. "But we need you anyway…"

Peverell snorted.

"You are planning to add him to your imbecilic idea of taking on more than one apprentice at a time?" he asked his wife, Godric's sister, and his sister, Godric's betrothed. Both just shrugged.

"I don't think it is an imbecilic idea" Peverell's wife said. "I am sure it will go well. And you know, my dear husband, we_ need_ to take on more than one apprentice. There are not enough masters who take on apprentices and we cannot let someone be untrained – it would end in a disaster!"

"Yes, I know, my dear. Still – why does it have to be you?!"

"Because we can."

"Except that we have no place shielded enough that the apprentices would stay save! This castle might be good for some apprentices – but it's not good for the extent you are planning! And think about the Gathering of the Lords! Do you really think that they would grand you the right to train their children?!"

"I am Lord LeFay" Godric answered shrugging. "And you are Lord Grim – we should have enough influence to turn the tides to our liking."

"I should have known my sister Rena has recruited you for her plans" Peverell sighed.

"Of course I have, Peverell" Rena, Godric's betrothed said. "He will be my husband soon so it is best if he is also helping us."

"Yes" Godric grinned. "And I will be able to teach the apprentices fighting and duelling without having to teach them all the other stuff I do not like to teach."

"Figures that she would rope you in like that" Peverell said sighting.

"May I ask what you are talking about?" Sal cautiously asked.

"We plan to open a place where we can teach a lot of apprentices at the same time" Godric's sister answered. "And by the way: I am Helga Grim."

"Oh! Excuse me! I should have done that before even trying to recruit you! I am Rowena Grim, soon LeFay, and that's my brother Peverell Grim" Rena said.

Sal thought for a moment that his heart stopped. Rowena?! Helga?! And Godric _Gryffindor_?! He did not stumble over the Founders, did he?!

"A pleasure to meet you" Sal said. "I am Salvazsahar Emrys."

"Salazar _Emrys_?!" Helga asked. "Emrys as in _Myrddin_ Emrys?!"

Sal just winced when the next of the Founders tortured his name.

"Yes, Emrys as in Myrddin Emrys" he answered.

"So the line of Emrys still exists" Peverell said, now scrutinizing Sal. "Your lord should attend the Gathering of the Lords. He has a right to do so."

"Emrys is no line of Lords. We are commoners" Sal answered shrugging.

The others stared at him as if he had lost it.

"You are descendants of Myrddin Emrys, lad – and you think you are commoners?! Even if you might one time have been – since the Gathering of the Lords gathered the first time we counted the House of Emrys as one of us. Myrddin Emrys was the teacher of Camelot and its ward-holder. There is no way to still count him as a commoner!" Peverell said with wide eyes.

Sal just shrugged.

"I never thought of claiming a lordship" he said shrugging. "And fath… and Myrddin taught a lot of people – I don't think that that is so remarkable."

"You?!" Godric blinked at that. "I thought you were just a descendant – I never thought you were the Head of House!"

Sal did not know what to tell him. Maybe it was best just to tell outright that he was the last of his house – that would explain the most.

But before he could think of even answering, Rena spoke.

"I might be inclined to think that Salazar was away for a long time. I am sure if we ask him he will tell us that he has not been in the British sorcering world for some decades." She said.

Sal looked up. Her knowing eyes met his and he cringed inwardly. She had heard when he nearly said father instead of Myrddin before.

"I wasn't" he answered. "I did not even know about the existence of the Gathering of the Lords until some decades ago."

"Well… when you did not know, then you know now" Peverell said. "You should come with us and claim your seat next time."

"Maybe" Sal answered.

"And you should maybe think about teaching with us" Rena said smiling. "We could need another hand."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"I believe I will not be of use teaching" he answered. "I do not know myself how to use a wand as I never had one myself. I will be unable to teach that."

"But you know potions" Godric pointed out. "I have seen you brewing often enough. And… runes… or healing…"

"Yes, but…"

"And we need you as a healer anyway" Helga intercepted. "When we really plan on teaching more than one apprentice at a time we will need an experienced healer. And you do have your healer's oath, don't you?"

"I do" Sal answered. "But…"

"Well, then it's settled" Helga said. "You have time, you are a healer and you have experience in some fields of magic. That's enough. And do not worry about your lacking knowledge about wand-magic. We will remedy that shortly."

"But…"

Soon Sal discovered that protesting was no use with the founders. They stomped all his protests with the fact that he had nothing to do right now and could help because of this. At the end of the evening Sal had surrendered to teach potions, runes and healing in their planed school.

The next morning he was met with two enthusiastic witches and an enthusiastic sorcerer – Peverell had just grumbled about paperwork and left – who decided to bring him to Londinium and Diagon Alley for a wand.

So they mounted some horses and rode two hours until they finally reached Diagon Alley. There they entered and brought Sal to Ollivander's.

It was the first time for Sal to enter Ollivander's again since the founding of the business. He somehow smiled when he saw that the shop had not changed much.

"Hey, Thoenel Ollivander! We bring you a customer!" Godric cried while entering. The man that answered Godric's cry was young and looked a lot like a younger Ollivanneder – Sal's godfather. It nearly hurt to see him because of the reminder of the dead.

"Greetings, Lord LeFay and the Ladies Grim" the man replied. "What can I do for you today?"

As an answer Sal was shoved in front of the counter.

"He needs a wand" Godric answered.

Ollivander blinked.

"He looks a bit old to not have one" he then said.

Sal rolled his eyes and extracted his staff.

"I just have this" he said, showing his staff in his full length. "I am a druid, I never bothered with getting a wand." With that he glared at Godric. "Well… until someone decided I need one…"

Ollivander blinked, then he took Sal's staff.

His eyes widened.

"A true master piece" he said with gleaming eyes. "And old, very, very old."

Sal just shrugged.

"It is mine" he answered. When Ollivander looked up Sal saw that the man had understood him. Sal had meant 'It was made for him' – but hadn't said so because of his company. Of course, Godric knew it was made for Sal as Sal had said something like that to him indirectly – but Sal definitely did not wish to remember Godric of it… especially after his staff had been declared as 'very, very old'…

"I am sure I am unable to make something like that" the old man said. "But I can surely find something that can accompany this master piece."

Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"I am not sure if I will be ever able to handle a wand right" he said to the wand-maker.

The man just smiled.

"I am sure you will be able to – using a wand is definitely easier than using a staff like that... with a little bit of practice I am sure you will do well" he answered. "And now I will need you to come with me. I will take you to my ingredients and you will pick those that feel right to you. The same goes for the wood. I am sure we will find something that will fit you."

Sal sighed but then he followed Ollivander. In the back of Ollivander's shop was his work-place. There a thousand of cores were stored on shelves around the room. On the earth there were boxes filled with woods. The last time Sal had been here, the cores had been at the same places, the woods instead had been standing in one of the corners – staffs were simply much longer then wands…

"Here we are. Feel with your magic what fits you" Ollivander said. "As a staff-carrier you should be able to do so very easily."

Sal sighed again, but did as he was told. He closed his eyes and tried to feel a pull from something. Soon he really did. At his right he nearly could feel a connection to him. What affinity would call him? Sal knew he had eight affinities but he also knew that this time not all eight would end up in his wand – so what affinity was stronger than the others? And would it stay the same throughout the centuries or would it change? Would it again be a Phoenix feather for him?! He followed the slight pull he was feeling and ended up with a glass in his hands. When he opened his eyes he recognized it instantly.

"Dementor blood" he said. So no Phoenix feather…

Ollivander just smiled.

"A potion master, I see" he commented and took the glass. "And now go on, please."

Sal closed his eyes again and again he spread his magic through the room. This time he felt a pull from his left and followed it again. When he opened his eyes again he had in his hands a glass with feathers.

"Thunderbird feather" he said, giving up the glass to the wand-maker.

"A curious combination" the wand-maker commented. "Very deadly and very dark. Nothing a light sorcerer could use at all."

Sal pressed his lips together. He knew he wasn't dark but he also knew he definitely wasn't light. He had killed and maimed in battle to protect the innocent and he had not regretted it at all. He had learned the Dark Arts – even if he was a healer.

No, this wand was definitely nothing a light sorcerer would have. This wand wasn't something a healer would have… But Sal never had been a normal healer…

"You seem to worry" the wand-maker said in that moment. Sal just shrugged.

"I am a healer" he said as an explanation. The wand-maker blinked and looked at the ingredients in his hands.

"You are?!" he asked astonished. "I would never have guessed that with these… a healer should not even be able to have those…"

"I also am a protector" Sal answered sighing.

Ollivander stared at him.

"How? Your oath should prevent you from killing…"

"My oath is worded differently" Sal answered. "It is a variant of the healer's oath. I am able to kill – but I will carry the consequences if I kill the wrong one."

"Ah… a Guardian Healer" the wand-maker said understanding. "I heard about them – but I never thought that I would meet one of them. And then you are also old…"

"It would be better if you would not tell my company about my age or…"

"I understand" Ollivander answered smiling slightly. "Just one question: _Who_ are you?"

Sal hesitated for just a moment, contemplating on his course of action. How much truth should he give? How much trust to a man he didn't know? But then – the man in front of him was a wand-maker. He would not tell. So Sal answered with a variation of the truth.

"I am Myrddin Emrys' son" he said and the wand-maker blinked again, his mouth hanging slightly open.

A few minutes silence reigned the air, then the wand-maker shook his head to clear it, closed his mouth, opened it again just to close it a second time.

"Well, we should continue" Ollivander finally managed to say and then instructed. "Put your hand in the box there – wait if a wood flies into your hand. If it doesn't, try it with the next box."

Sal nodded and kneeled. He did as he was told and finally after the fifth box a wood zoomed in his open hand. He pulled it out.

"Maple" he said.

"And there is the connection between the light arts of healing and the dark arts of the protector" Ollivander said. "Your wand will be able to heal and to protect – even if its dark cores will make it better as a protector then as a healer. Maybe you have to protect more this time then to heal, Myrddin's son."

"Maybe" Sal answered.

"Now go out to your friends. It will take a few days until I have crafted it." Sal nodded and left.

"How did it go?" Godric asked.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"I closed my eyes and let my magic guide me to the ingredients – how did you think it would go?!"

Godric just huffed.

"You know I did not mean it like that, Salazar!"

But Sal just ignored him.

Instead he and the women left the shop. Godric followed them instantly.

A few days later Sal returned and paid for his wand. After that his training began. Rowena, Helga and even Godric seemed to think of him as a test subject in teaching. With Sal's memory and their guiding it did not take long for him until he was able to use his wand like them.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_**Now just one question:**__ back to Harry or do you want another chapter on Sal? _

_I have trouble deciding so please help me!_

_That's it for today. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	26. Chapter 25: Ca 900 AD The Gathering

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Well, if I counted right, the vote said Sal. So… on with another chapter in the past – I promise, the next will be in the future with Harry again (for those that voted for Harry...)_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Ca. 900 AD**

**The Gathering of The Lords**

sss

Just a few days later, Godric and Peverell left to Londinium again for the next Gathering of the Lords. Sal originally did not want to come along, but soon found out, that he had no choice in that matter. Godric and even Peverell were insistent.

When they reached Londinium, the other two Lords took Sal to a cave that contained the hall for the Gathering of the Lords. The day before in the morning Sal had decided to brush up his etiquette lessons.

"Don't worry" Godric had told him at that time, when Sal asked how he should behave in front of the other Lords. "No one will judge you for not knowing the etiquette. Just behave as you usually would – Peverell and I will do the rest."

Sal had not been happy with this answer, but stayed silent. He had guessed that Godric had wanted to sooth him because the other thought Salvazsahar never had any formal training – and Sal could not fault him for that. Still, he would have preferred a short over-view over the common etiquette – just to see if his knowledge still matched with the current time…

In the end however he decided not to ask again. If his knowledge didn't match anymore there was no way he would be able to learn it all until he met the other lords – and if it still matched then he did not need the help of the other two. So he stayed silent. The next morning however he searched his meagre possessions for the official court robes he normally had worn on Arthur's court. Then he combed his long, black hair and started to braid it in the way he had been taught by Gawain. Simple green and silver ribbons – the same colour his official robes had – now adorned the braided parts of his hair and a simple hair piece, which looked like a silver three-angled spider web completed the headdress.

Over his robes he simply wore his travel cloak with the hood concealing his hair.

Godric and Peverell also wore more formal robes that day, but told Sal he should not worry about something like that. So Sal shrugged and decided not to mention that he indeed possessed and wore formal robes – even if their style was older than the robes Godric and Peverell were wearing.

So he followed the two lords to the hall where the Gathering would take place. The first thing, Sal saw when he entered the cave, was the obelisk.

In the middle of the hall stood an obsidian obelisk which was high enough to lay your hand on it comfortably.

"The stone of judgement" Godric whispered. "It was enhanced by Myrddin himself. It's the same stone, Arthur drew Excalibur from."

Sal said nothing. He knew, that his father Arthur definitely did not draw Excalibur from anywhere – after all the legendary sword originally belonged to Sal…

But Sal also knew that Arthur indeed drew a sword from the stone. Caledfwlch – the first sword he had had. And it had been this stone, apparently…

"The stone judges you. It will decide if your family truly is a part of this Gathering or if it isn't" Peverell added.

Sal just sighed and looked at the rest of the room. The most of the room was made of stone. The only exception were the wooden chairs for the Lords. And even there was an exception. A throne-like stone chair was seated at the end of the hall, facing the chairs of the lords.

"The throne" Peverell whispered, when he saw Sal looking at it. Sal blinked and turned to look at Peverell.

"You're joking, aren't you?!" he said shivering. He vividly remembered sitting on a throne for three agonizing weeks while Arthur recovered from his wounds. Sal had no intention doing so again…

"I am not" Peverell answered. "We are still subjects to the Pendragon-family – even if there is no one who can claim the title anymore…"

"Lord Grim!" a voice snarled in that moment and interrupted Peverell while speaking. "What a pleasure to meet you and Lord LeFay here in this humble halls."

Immediately Peverell's back stiffed with distaste. One moment his features darkened, but then he schooled them to an unreadable mask and turned to the speaker.

"Lord Gaunt" he greeted. "The pleasure is mine."

The other Lord just waved with his hand.

"I am truly surprised that you even decided to come, Lord Grim" he said. "I thought a Gathering from such lowly men like us is way beneath you – but then, you also decided to bring a commoner to this holy halls… I am intrigued how Lord Selwyn will react."

Sal raised an eyebrow when he heard the words. His eyes searched Godric's and asked a silent question to explain.

"Lord Selwyn is the leader of the Gathering" Godric whispered but before he could add another thing, a second man entered the cave.

"Lord Gaunt" he greeted. "Lord Grim, Lord LeFay." Then he looked at Sal and raised an eyebrow at Peverell and Godric.

"I hope you have a good explanation for disrespecting our traditions and bringing a commoner to this place" he said.

"There is a very good explanation, Lord Selwyn" Peverell said. "Just hear us out before…"

"I told you that the Lords LeFay and Grim still think themselves superior to us" Lord Gaunt interrupted him. "They even think that they have the right to bring a commoner in the Halls of the Gathering! This behaviour is outrageous, Lord Selwyn!"

Sal saw that other lords had entered the cave while they were speaking. The most of them nodding when Lord Gaunt spoke.

"Throw him out and punish these two children! Even if it is the first time – we cannot let them do everything they want just because they are _Olde _ones!" Gaunt finished and Sal snapped. He had grown up (again) on Arthur's Court and had been taught how to behave as the son of Arthur. Throwing a person out of a lordly hall after this person was invited by other Lords was one of the foulest things you could do…

And not asking for a person's name before throwing them out was an even greater break in etiquette – after all, throwing someone out of a Gathering was like declaring a blood-feud. It was especially foolish to declare a blood-feud with a family that could have more influence than your own…

Of course, it could have changed over time – but the rules Arthur, Gawain and Lancelot had taught him were routed deeply in his mind and Sal could not stop himself from reacting like he would have reacted if he had been on Arthur's court.

Salvazsahar threw back his hood and stared at them with emotionless eyes and a face like a mask, in his green eyes hidden the blasting of the Phoenix's eternal flames.

"I thought this hall was build out of stone to last for eternity" he reprimanded the lord softly, still displaying no emotions at all. "Now I see I was mistaken. The stone seems to be here to shadow your eyes from the world around you, my dear lords. And truly, this chamber works wonders. There even is a shadow on your names as you have not named yourself and also not asked for mine until now."

Lord Gaunt blinked and stared at him.

"What are you implying, boy?" Lord Selwyn asked in Lord Gaunt's stet.

"I am merely inquiring why the lord asks for strife between our families by looking down on his own breeding and everything his parents might have taught him since the day he was born" Sal said softly. "I am quite sure a lord of his calibre would not fall so low to forget his own education in our ways."

Lord Selwyn simply gawked at him and Sal started to ask himself if the etiquette he had been taught had changed so much since the last time he had to use it, that they did not recognize the faux-pas they had committed.

It was another, very old looking man who broke the sudden silence with his laughter.

Then he stepped up to them and bowed to Sal.

"I am Alistair Conor Declan McGonagall, Lord of the Glen Gal in Pictia" he said formally. "I am intrigued who you are, dear child. I have never seen someone chastising a lord with so much elegance like you did today."

Sal raised an eyebrow when the old lord answered.

"So I take it that the conduct in a formal Gathering has changed since the days of my father?" he asked the old lord softly. The man – Lord McGonagall – simply shook his head.

"It hasn't, young child" he answered. "They simply are not used to anyone who knows better how to behave then them themselves. It has been a long time since I last encountered someone who knew our ways as good as you seem to do."

"I am honoured by your words, Lord McGonagall, even if I am sure that you are exaggerating" Sal said, a little bit surprised that the other lords seemed not to have been as harshly reprimanded for behaving wrongly in their youth than he had been. "For my name, I am Salvazsahar Serendu Harryjames Emrys, Lord of Emrys and ward-holder of my ancestral home in Pictia. I am pleased to meet a neighbour of my realm."

Sal also answered the bow of Lord McGonagall, but kept his bow not as deep as the lord had bowed before. He did it automatically and stiffened, when he stood straight again and recognized his slip. A lord to another one bowed equally low, a prince or king instead – like Sal had been trained – bowed less than a lord. And the lord in front of him definitely had seen his slip and was calculating its meaning…

_Was he the only one?_

Sal glanced at the other lords – especially his slack-jawed friends – and relaxed. To his relief no-one – except of the old lord in front of him, that is – had seen his short slip up. The lord in front of him still stared at him with calculating eyes. The others instead roared at him.

"Emrys?!" Gaunt roared. "You should know that it will not become you well if you make a joke like that in this halls!"

"The Emrys line is extinct!" Lord Selwyn hissed. "There is no way that a mere boy like you does belong to a line as powerful as Emrys!"

Others said the same and more while Godric and Peverell still seemed to gawk at him for his ability to act like a lord should – until Lord McGonagall intervened.

"Follow me, young lord" he addressed Sal and winked him to the obelisk.

"Just lay your hand on the stone and state your claim."

Sal hesitated just a second, then he followed the instructions. The stone was warm to his hands when he touched it softly.

Then he stated formally: "I am Salvazsahar Emrys. I am Lord to my line. I call forth the Lordship I carry. I am Lord Emrys as I was born to my father who was the last Lord Emrys. So be it, so mot it be."

White light erupted from the stone and bathed him in a soft golden glow. At the same time the throne, to Sal's dismay, started to shimmer in the same golden glow that enveloped Sal. The old lord raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the stone throne and then at Sal.

Sal sighed and shook his head.

"But you could" the lord whispered softly so that the other lords who were staring at Sal could not hear him.

Sal just raised an eyebrow, then the mischief took over and he answered. "Of course I could" he said. "I am _his_ son after all. I just won't because I hated to be a prince – and I definitely will loath it even more if I were a king. So don't tell anyone." And with that he chuckled and returned to Godric and Peverell, leaving behind a slack-jawed old man.

"Well" that was Godric. "Well – that should be enough to prove that we did not bring a commoner to our Gathering."

Lord Selwyn simply blinked at Godric, still absolutely flabbergasted after the display he had seen a minute before.

"Er… of course, Lord LeFay" he finally said. "And I apologise to Lord Emrys for doubting his claim."

"You do not have to apologise for doubting my claim" Sal answered. "Doubting the claim was nothing I would hold against you. Breaking the rules of a gathering and trying to throw me out without hearing me out at first and even without asking for my name instead – that is something you should apologise for, Lord Selwyn."

The lord blinked again, then he inclined his head.

"You are right, Lord Emrys. I apologise for my behaviour."

"I accept" Sal answered, also inclining his head. "But do not forget. I will not accept another breach in etiquette against myself as easily as now next time it happens."

"You are a harsh lord, Lord Emrys" Lord Selwyn said softly. Sal just shrugged.

"If I would have followed my father's lead, you would be dead by my feet now – I do not see it as harsh when I think of the answer my father would have given you by now."

Lord McGonagall nearly choked on his own saliva when hearing Sal's answer.

"Er… yes… well… we should get started…" Lord Selwyn finally said and the other lord sat down in one of the chairs. Sal followed Godric and Peverell and sat down next to them. Lord McGonagall instead sat next to Sal.

And while Lord Selwyn took one of the chairs and sat it down next to the obelisk so that he could see the whole gathering, Lord McGonagall whispered in Sal's ear: "Was what you told me earlier a joke – or are you really somehow the son of… of King Arthur Pendragon… or did I just understand it wrongly…?"

Sal smiled at the old lord.

"My mother belonged to his line" Sal answered as softly as the lord. "I was adopted by him as his son and heir until he would have a child of his own. He never had a son he recognized except of me."

The old lord shuddered.

"So you're…"

"I am fine by being my blood-father's heir. The title of Emrys is definitely enough to carry. I do not need this…" he nodded to the throne. "Also on my plate."

The lord opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by Lord Selwyn, who started the Gathering.

"Today is the seventieth Gathering of the Lords" he said. "Our people are flourishing and the cooperation with the mundanes is getting along well. Is there something you want or need to discuss today?"

"There is, my Lord" a Lord in the background said and stood up.

"The Gathering recognises Lord Arthur Bones" Lord Selwyn said and Lord Bones continued.

"My clan is flourishing well but there aren't enough teachers for our youth" Lord Bones said gravely. "We need some masters to teach our ways and our magic to them but there is no-one in my clan that hasn't an apprentice or that has the ability to teach an apprentice. I came today to ask for places to send our youths to so that they learn to control their magic."

When he ended six other lords also stood up.

"I have come for the same" they chorused and after that stared at each other, surprised that they were not the only ones.

"I am looking for a place of our youths as well" Lord McGonagall said while standing up. "I do not need it this year – but I need it next. I simply have not enough masters anymore that can take on an apprentice."

"I told you that the apprenticeship will be a problem in the near future, Peverell" Godric whispered softly. "Rena and Helga are right. Taking on more than one apprentice will be the only way to ensure the education of our youths."

Peverell just inclined his head and stood up.

"I came here with a declaration that could aid your needs" he said loudly to the gathering. Lord Selwyn nodded and said.

"The Gathering recognises Lord Peverell Grim" he said and the eyes of the other lords fell on the Grim-Lord.

"My wife and my sister are planning a new concept of apprenticeship" he said. "The Lords Emrys and LeFay are also aiding in their task. My clan will have the same problems like yours in a few years' time, because of that my wife and sister want to open a place to teach our young in groups. It will not be an apprenticeship, instead it would introduce the children to magic and its ways. We plan on teaching them enough so that a real master will be able to take on more than one apprentice at the time they have finished their education with us. We are here to ask for your allowance to do so and to ask for your trust in our abilities so that you would send your children to us to be trained."

"How do you plan to take on more than one apprentice?" Lord Selwyn asked surprised.

"We plan to teach them the basics for all apprenticeships" Peverell answered hesitatingly. "The easy things that could be taught to more than one child even now. It's simply the idea to take away the first eight years of apprenticeship from the masters. After that the children should know enough so that a master does not have to worry anymore. And when the children do not learn only the basics of one apprenticeship but of more there should also be less problems with their understanding of magic which would aid the masters in their tasks. Then maybe the masters also can take on more than one apprentice at a time. It would aid all."

"An interesting concept you have" Lord McGonagall said, staring at them. "I think I would like to send you some of my children to test it. If it really aids them and the masters I would think about giving the rest of my children in your hands for the next eight years."

Another lord in the back nodded.

"I would do the same" he said. "But there is the problem with harvest. A lot of the parents need the aid of their children at that time of the year."

"And if we would send them back for harvest every year?" Sal asked and stood up. "They could be taught by us for the most of the year and they could be send home for harvest. Like that you can test them and be sure that they know as much as they should know at that time in their apprenticeship. And if they do you can send them and others that want to join back after harvest. If they don't you can chose to search for another way."

"As long as they learn to control their magic and they still can help in harvest I would not even be bothered if they would know a little bit less than they would if they were apprenticed" another lord said. "The children need to be taught and I would like to test your idea. If they learn less I still would send them back until I have enough masters that could teach them better."

"There is just one question: When will you start with it?" Lord McGonagall said.

"We planned to start in a year's time after harvest" Godric said. "We still have to gather some ideas about what we need to teach the children. It will take some time to decide what we will teach and how we will teach it. We will send out letters when we are ready to take in the first apprentices."

"Then I will wait for your letter eagerly" Lord McGonagall said and others also inclined their head to show their content.

"Well – your idea seems to have merit" Lord Selwyn said. "The Gathering recognises the idea of the Lords Grim, LeFay and Emrys. We will watch over it for the next years. If it really aids us we will think about inducting laws that will establish this idea in our culture. Anyone against this decision?"

No-one raised a hand.

"Anyone for this decision?"

Nearly everyone raised their hands this time.

"Well, so mot it be. Let us see the following years how this idea of yours will develop."

And with that the last word was spoken in the Gathering about the idea of a school. Nearly eighty years later the laws about Hogwarts would be added to the laws of the Gathering – until than every year the Leader of the Gathering would ask about the school and how the lords felt about it. It never had a negative reply in all the years the leader asked…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	27. Chapter 26: Thowing Out The Bait

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Throwing Out The Bait**

sss

_Dear Readers,_

_I am proud to present you a new column in _The Quibbler. _Our new columnist, Oliver Twist, will present you with facts about the wizarding world you never knew and never thought about._

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Editor-in-Chief of _The Quibbler

_xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxx_

_**Founding Facts**_

_It's the end of August and soon it will be time to return to Hogwarts again. I am sure you all remember the stone walls of Hogwarts, her homey feeling and the warmth that will fill you as soon as you set a foot on her grounds._

_And with the beginning of the new year also some new students arrive. They will enter the halls of Hogwarts with huge eyes, innocent of the trials of life. They will stare at this beautiful castle in wonder and will learn to love it like they love home._

_But there they will not just learn magic; they will also learn house-rivalry, house-rivalry and prejudice. Why staying friends with your best friend since you were children after he or she was sorted in Slytherin and you yourself in Gryffindor? The Founders of Gryffindor and Slytherin hated each other – the blood-feud cannot be mended even in another thousand years!_

_Let the Sorting Hat talk about school unity, let him sing. There is no mending of the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin! There are no friendships between the houses – and no teachers who even try to be fair to every house!_

_You think that?! Really?!_

_Then let me tell you a story._

_There is an old book in the library of Hogwarts. It's hidden in a little room and its name is '_The Teachers of Hogwarts'_._

_Last year I found it just by accident. So… whoever you are, when you still go to Hogwarts, go looking for it. There are some interesting things provided in it. Some of these things are some important facts about the teachers who teach or taught at Hogwarts. Just ask the book for the Founder of your house – or maybe another Founder?! – and read yourself. I did it – and I found things you would never have guessed…_

_Did you know that Slytherin argued about the safety of Hogwarts and that he did not want Muggle-_parents _come to Hogwarts?! Did you know that even if he and Gryffindor had a falling out in the middle of the Great Hall that three days later the other Founders gave in to his wishes?!_

_When I read that I searched the library about the historical events at that time. Did you know that at that time Britain was attacked often by Viking-ships? They murdered, they maimed and they made slaves to bring them back home._

_Did you know that the Muggles at that time blamed sometimes _wizards _for the Viking – simply because wizards could hide but did not even thing about hiding their neighborhood?!_

_Not everyone was so brave and foolish like Gryffindor who nearly lost his life protecting a Muggle village in his neighborhood. Well, maybe he would have lost his life if Slytherin would not have aided him…_

_So Slytherin was trying to _protect _his students from the wrath of Muggles who were not protected by his students__'__ parents – and don't forget: at that time Muggles knew about us. We were living with them, even marrying them._

_When they would have known about the school they would have been able to enter it without wards against them…_

_And the Founders even tried to be fair. They did not only exclude the Muggle- but also the magical parents. Or why do you think no parent ever entered Hogwarts except if their child was mortally wounded?! And even then they had to be brought in and could not come by themselves…_

_But back to history._

_We know, Slytherin left._

_Well, I cannot argue that statement. Slytherin left. Rowena died, then Helga, then Godric and finally Slytherin _left. _'Hu?!' you might think. 'Isn't that the wrong order?!'_

_Just check the dates. Even if Slytherin has no date of death, he has a date when he finally left Hogwarts – and that's more then twenty years after Godric Gryffindor's death. So when the Sorting Hat tells you that the unity shattered after Slytherin left it simply tells you that the Founders were a unity until the most of them had _died_. _

_So back to our first years…_

_Back to Hogwarts._

_Think about it this way: When the Founders could be united until they died – don't you think you can do it, too? Forget house-rivalry, forget biased teachers and self-named Heirs of Slytherin. Look at your classmates. They are not different then you. They are nervous, they are able to love, to hate, to be sad, to be happy…_

_Even if they love to learn, even if they are living in the dungeons… they are still humans like you. You can still be friends._

_Just forget the red, the blue, the yellow and the green on their uniforms. Their uniforms are all black. They all have classes. They all eat in the Great Hall._

_So how about trying a little green for today or a little red?_

_And when you want to protest, think about this: the Sorting Hat gives you a choice – so how can you really be sure that the red, blue, yellow or green on your opponents black uniform is earned?_

_Maybe you are a Gryffindor and have shared a dorm with a Slytherin all along…_

_Oliver Twist_

sSsSs

"Thanks" Harry said, handing back _The Quibbler_ to the blond girl in front of him. She had lend him her newspaper after he had asked her – after all, he could hardly take out his own copy and read that one when he officially not even knew about the development with Oliver Twist.

"I don't mind" the girl – Luna Lovegood, Ginny had called her – said and took the newspaper. "Its always good to know the more important things in the wizarding world."

Ginny snorted while Neville nearly chocked on his own saliva.

"Er… sure" Harry said.

Ginny just roled her eyes at his reply and Neville whispered in his ear: "_The Quibbler_ is known for its more… excentric view on the world…"

"Ah… all right" Harry replied then he contemplated a bit before he added. "Well, the article about Hogwarts didn't seem too excentric in my opinion. There were some details I never knew in it – but all in all it seemed to be the truth. And that's more then the_ Prophet _is writing at the moment."

Neville stared at him then he turned and asked Luna if he could borrow her newspaper for a bit. He opened _The Quibbler_ and began to read while Ginny was looking over his shoulder, also reading.

"Well?" Harry asked when they finished.

"Do you… do you think it's telling the truth?" Neville asked wide eyed.

"Of course it is" Luna said. "Daddy is always printing the truth – and since Oliver Twist is writing for him there are finally a lot more people interested in it. He's now thinking about hireing a few people because he has started to have trouble printing all the subscriptions he has…"

"Ah… all right" Neville said, clearly unsure what to think about that.

Before he could add something else, the compartment door opened and Ron and Hermione entered. And while Ron instandly hunted down the food they had, Hermione plucked _The Quibbler _out of Neville's hands.

"You're reading Twist's article, aren't you?" she asked.

"Hu? How do you…?"

"I heard the adults talking about the boy who is writing letters to _The Quibbler_" Hermione answered. "Mrs Weasley thinks that a young boy like him should think about school and not about listening to rumours but Si… Snuffles thinks it's brilliant. Until now I had no time to look at one of the articles myself, may I?"

"Er… I think you already have" Neville pointed out. "But sure, I guess… not that it's my newspaper. It belongs to Luna over there…"

Hermione did not even listen. Instead she started to read out loud.

Harry just roled his eyes at 'his' best friend. As if he couldn't read the article himself…

"Slytherin's in Gryffindor?!" Ron blurted out when Hermione ended. "That… that's a joke, isn't it?!"

"What are you talking about, Weasley?!" another voice said – this time coming from the compartment door. Malfoy was standing in the door, sneering at Ron.

"This article from Oliver Twist, Heir Malfoy" Harry answered, plucking the newspaper out of Hermione's hands and handing it to Malfoy. "It talks about choices – and about Slytherins in Gryffindor."

Malfoy looked at Harry oddly before he snorted, hesitated, but finally he took the article nevertheless and looked it over.

"Rubbish" he finally said. "The same rubbish as always. You shouldn't believe the newspaper of an insane editor, Potter!"

Harry just inclined his head.

"But you also shouldn't disregard an article like that, Heir Malfoy" Harry said softly. "After all there is always the possibility that the article might be genutine or that the article – even if it is wrong – might influence people who don't know better. You might be at a disadvantage if you don't know about something like that, Heir Malfoy."

Ron stared at Harry with an open mouth. Hermione frowned and Neville looked back and forth between Harry and Malfoy as if he was following a duell.

Malfoy just sneered.

"Why so formal, Potter? Forgotten how to insult over the holidays?!"

Harry just smiled.

"Of course not, Heir Malfoy. But after the faux-pas I committed in first year I cannot ask for your forgiveness without being formal."

The apartement was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Harry's friends were staring at him as if he had gone insane and Malfoy suddenly seemed usure what to do with him. Of course, before the summer, the original Harry would have never been civil with the Heir Malfoy. The new Harry instead had been raised the pure-blood way of life and had decided to act on it – it was after all better to minimize his opponents instead of trying to fight the whole world all alone. And Malfoy could be useful at some occasion…

"Potter – what are you up to?" Malfoy sneered, but Harry did not falter. He knew the original Harry had offended the Malfoy heir. Harry had decided to mend the relationship to the Malfoy family. He needed to mend the faux-pas from first year before continueing with his plans.

So he ignored the tone of Draco Malfoy and bowed low to the heir.

"I wish to apologies for my attitude the last years" he answered. "I did not wish to offend you in first year – I was merely a child without guidance about the rights and wrongs in the world. As the Lord of the Grim Family and your cousin by blood I beg you for your forgiveness, Heir Malfoy."

"Cousin?" Malfoy asked asktonished.

Harry did not look up while answering.

"My grandmother was Dorea Black."

He knew that being family was important in a plea for forgiveness. Malfoy would not be able to forgive Harry easily if they weren't blood. As blood-relatives instead Harry was able to get forgiveness more easily without the Heir Malfoy losing his face. Family should work together, after all.

Of course, Harry had other means to ensure that Malfoy would not stand in his way – but why forcing something that maybe could be mended through other means? After all, the young Heir Malfoy would loose his face if he swatted away the formal apology of a family member. If Harry had murderered someone of Malfoy's family, then Malfoy would have been able to say no – but the faux-pas Harry had committed was not even enough for a blood-feud among their families… well, at least until Harry entered the Wizengamot as a member…

Malfoy hesitated just a moment.

"I will forgive you, Lord Grim" he finally answered, stocking by the title. "But you still own me your allegiance."

"Aid, Heir Malfoy" Harry corrected. "I am a Lord. I cannot follow you."

Again, Malfoy stayed silent for a minute. Then he nodded.

"Aid it is" he said. "You will not go against me or my house – even if we end up on different sides."

"So mot it be" Harry answered and stood straight again.

Malfoy stared at him.

"I still don't like you, Lord Grim" he said and then he turned and shut the door behind him. Harry instead grinned.

"You don't have to" he answered the closed door.

"Harry, what…? Why?" Ginny asked with huge eyes.

"Because I had to" Harry answered simply. "Albus Dumbledore might think nothing wrong with grudges but I will not let a mere child-grudge become a blood feud between our families. As I am still not a member of the Wizengamot I still could mend it. I wouldn't have been able to if I would have been a member."

Neville nodded.

"I understand. Grams told me often enough not to offend someone because it would do me no good if I had an enemy in the Wizengamot."

"And it definitely wouldn't be good if that enemy would be family" Harry confirmed.

"Definitely" Neville answered. The others just gawked at him.

"But… but… that was Malfoy!" Ron finally stuttered. "Malfoy, Harry!"

Harry snorted.

"I know, Ron" he answered. "But I cannot go around and insult him just because I do not like him. I am a _Lord_, Ron. A Lord – do you understand what that means?!"

Ron just gawked.

"Harry" that was Hermione. "I don't understand. What do you mean with: I am a Lord?! You cannot be a Lord… I mean… how…?!"

This time Harry sighed and then frowned.

"It's simple, Hermione. My father was a Lord and because he is dead and I am fifteen I am the Lord now."

"Your father… but how do you know that?! I mean – I thought you didn't know anything about your family!"

"I didn't" Harry answered sincerely. "But I found out this summer – and I definitely won't act like a disgrace to my family name anymore."

"But… how did you find out?! I mean you weren't allowed to leave…"

"We should change our clothes" Harry said, stopping her mid-sentence. "We will be at Hogwarts in ten minutes."

"You cannot just end…" Hermione started, this time looking determinded.

Harry sighed.

"I know, Hermione. It's just something I cannot…" he stopped, then he shook his head. "Snuffles told me." He finally said.

"Oh" Hermione blushed. "I should have guessed it myself…"

Harry just left the compartment so that the girls could change. He felt a little bit guilty for lying – but then, it wasn't the first time he had lied to someone and it definitely wouldn't be the last. He just hoped that Hermione would not ask Sirius why he hadn't told Harry about his place in the world before this summer…

xXxXxXxXxXx

When they finally reached Hogsmeade Harry had gone silent. His friends were talking about the holidays, the new school year and guessed what kind of Defence Professor they would have this year.

Harry instead had taken to looking out in the dark. In his mind he could feel the heavy feeling of magic humming at him. He closed his eyes, listening to the humming of the magic that was filling the air.

He felt sick by just listening!

The more he listend, the more nauseated he felt by what he heard.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry startled and looked at Hermione who watched him with a worried expression on her face.

"Er… yes. I am fine, Hermione" he answered.

"You sure?" Ron asked. "You look a little bit queezy."

"Just nervous" Harry answered. "You know… I'm not sure if I should look forward to this year…"

"Why?" Hermione asked surprised.

Harry just snorted.

"Four words, Hermione: Quirrel, Basilisk, Dementors and Tournament."

"Oh… yeah… well… maybe this year will be nothing…?" Ron said, now with understanding in his voice.

In that moment they hit the wards of Hogwarts and Harry had to bite his cheek so that he would not cry out because of the pain he felt as soon as the wards settled on his shoulders. Like a rock the wards fell on his shoulders, nearly breaking him with their wight. The nausea sparked and his head started to ache as if someone had hit it with a war hammer.

Blood filled Harry's mouth when he refused to cry for pain. He turned his head and looked outside so that no-one in the carriage could see the agony that was displayed on his face and the tears that threatened to fall.

"I don't think that this year will be a quiet year, Ron" Harry replied, proud of himself that his voice was nearly tremmour-free while he still felt as if his head had exploded with pain.

"I definitely know now what I have to do first" he thought to himself. "I will go mad if I have to feel this strain for the whole year I am here!"

In that moment a soothing sensation softly caressed his mind and the strain eased.

Again tears threatened to fall, but he helt them back. He could not cry – the others mustened know!

"Well, you can at least hope for a quiet year" Ron said in that moment. Harry shrugged, still refusing to look at the others.

"I will think about it as soon as I know that the Defence Professor is no-one who wants me dead" he answered.

"Touché" Ron snorted. "Well then let's stop hoping until after the feast."

"Exactely."

With that Harry turned and closed his eyes. The soothing sensation still caressed his mind and eased his unease. It was this warm feeling that finally reminded Harry why he loved Hogwarts so much. Why he considered Hogwarts his home. And why he had decided to come here in the middle of the lions den to kill of the pride that was hunting him.

A maybe foolish step to do – but a step he would not change even if he would think about it again. Even if he had to destroy the school and everything it stood for – he would have come here for his revenge and he never would regret it…

And then a familiar whisper filled his head, its origin in the soothing feeling that caressed his mind.

"Welcome home" it said. "Welcome home, child. Welcome home, child of my child."

"Harry? Are you truly all right?" Hermione asked him in that moment again. Ron was also looking at him with a funny expression on his face.

"Oh, I am, Hermione, I am" he answered, bathing in the warm embrace that aided him with swatting away the pain he felt. "Why shouldn't I be alright?"

"I'm not sure – you just suddenly looked as if you were far away, you know…" Hermione answered. Harry just smiled.

"Don't worry, Hermione" he said. "I am really fine. I am just happy to be back, you know."

"And I thought you worried…" Ron said.

Harry shrugged.

"I still do. But I am back at Hogwarts – and whatever comes comes… even with Voldemort… I cannot change it even if I wanted to…"

Ron snorted.

"And a minute before you looked as if you wanted to balk…"

Harry shrugged.

"No" Harry answered sincerely. "I might worry about what will happen this year but Hogwarts… Hogwarts is home, you know, mate?"

Ron blinked, then he shrugged.

"If you think so, mate" he answered and Harry let it go. He knew Ron would never understand his feelings. Harry was not even sure if anyone else would. Hogwarts was home. But not like it had been home for thousands of orphans and unlucky ones. No. For Harry Hogwarts meant more – even more then it had meant for the previous Harry who had been an unlucky orphan.

But that was something Harry surly would not discuss with any of 'his' friends.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When the Sorting Hat started to sing, Harry was startled. He knew that the latest Oliver Twist text in _The Quibbler _was about the Founders – but he was still surprised that the Sorting Hat had decided to sing about their history this year.

Even if the history the Hat was singing about was slightly wrong…

Harry sighted when the Hat exclaimed that Slytherin had said '_We'll teach just those Whose ancestry is purest.'_ He knew that history got that one wrong. There had never been any talk about purity like they knew today from the proud man that had been Slytherin – but that was something long lost in time…

So Harry bit his lip and kept quiet. Instead he took the time to scrutinize the woman who would be his new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was sure that they would learn nothing in her classes – and after she started talking he just got more convinced that his prediction would hold true.

He sighted inwardly.

"I will check the wards" he thought to himself. "Not only do they feel as if they want to kill me by just being there but the choice of Defence Professors is also unbelievable! There _must _be a curse on the Defense position. No-one can have this much bad luck in choosing their teachers…" Well, except it was a part of the plan – Harry wouldn't put it past the Headmaster to explicitly hire bad professors when it somehow would fit in his plans…

Still – it was better to check the castle-wards now before having another Defense teacher who couldn't teach next year.

"I should have checked them last year", Harry thought. But there was nothing he could do now – and last year he had been busy with his preparations for this year. And these preparations had been more important then a curse on the Defense position…

"Oh how I hate to be me" Harry thought wryly. "Sometimes I truly wish I would have never started my plan to get revenge. There is simply so much to do and too less time to do it…"

And it was in this moment that he wished he had recruited someone else to aid him with his plans…

But there was no-one – well, except Regulus and Augusta who did not know what he was up to. Not that he did not trust her… but he had not decided what he should tell her and what he shouldn't tell… and until then he had no-one but Regulus, the house-elves and his own insane mind to aid himself. But having the help of just one person and two house-elves was nothing when you compared his forces with those of Albus Dumbledore or Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort.

"Well, I never planed to go against them one on one" Harry thought wryly. "We would be dead before even one curse was hurled at us…"

Riddle and Dumbledore would strangle them with their bare hands for daring to interfere with their plans…

Harry smiled when this thought entered his mind. Then he buried it beneath his Occlumency shields and turned to 'his' friends and entered their conversation as if nothing had happened at all.

This year would be the turning point.

This year he planed to drive them all insane. And he would start with a man who saw it coming for more then fourteen years…

Harry surpressed an insane grin when his eyes met those of his first target this year.

For a moment Severus Snape felt a cold shiffer running down his back. It would take a long time until he would understand what he felt at that time of the year…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

And while the students returned to the dorms, an enthusiastic little teacher hurried for the library to search it wholly. It took him the better part of the next hour to finally find what he was looking for, but in the end he found it.

In a little room, hidden in the farest corner of the library, the book he was looking for, was situated on a pedestal. '_The Teachers of Hogwarts'_ it read.

The tiny professor smiled, then he placed a hand on the book and whispered: "Salazar Slytherin."

The book glowed and then it opened somewhere in the front. The first thing the tiny professor saw was the picture of a regal looking man in plain, black clothes. The man had starteling green eyes and he looked coolly at those that opened the book on his page.

He was quite handsome but the tiny professor could tell that the man was no-one that should be crossed. On the other page were listed the things Salazar Slytherin had done and taught. The tiny professor also found a date that showed when Salazar Slytherin had left Hogwarts. There was no date of death and neither a date of birth but there were a lot of other interesting information. The tiny professor absorbed himself in the book, first reading Slytherin's entry, then those of the other founders. Finally he started to check the book itself.

Another hour later the tiny professor looked at his watch and cursed. He put the book away and hurried out of the library. Maybe he still would make it in time for the first teacher's conference in this year…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Welcome to the first teacher's conference in the new year" Albus Dumbledore said, looking at the teacher's faces around him. "There are some points I have to discuss with everyone…"

"Like the story _The Quibbler_ has been printing?" Minerva McGonagall asked sharply. "I cannot understand how Xenophilius could print such rubbish! I know he is a little bit… odd… but he has never ever printed something utterly false before! He was a Ravenclaw for Merlin's sake!"

"But the story he has printed wasn't rubbish at all, my dear Minerva" Filius Flittwick squeaked. "I checked the facts behind the story – and it was true. There really is a book about the teachers of Hogwarts in the library and it really contains the story like this Oliver Twist has written it down."

"So he didn't make that up?" Pomona Sprout asked surprised.

Flittwick just shook his head.

"I looked up everything" he said. "I also proved the date '_The Teachers of Hogwarts_' book was connected with Hogwarts. Very impressive charms work. I would be unable to do something similar even if I would know all the charms used."

"But you were able to confirm some facts?" Snape asked with a raised eyebrow. Flittwick nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes! Oh yes!" he said with bright eyes. "And what I found out is unbelievable! The book is about one thousand years old! I would guess that Rowena Ravenclaw herself cast the spell to connect the book with the castle!"

"So the facts of the article…"

"True! It has to be – except Slytherin did something to confuse the book and I doubt that even he was able to do something like that!"

"Interesting" Albus said.

"I never thought that Hogwarts would contain secrets like that!" Filius Flittwick said enthusiastically. "And these are not the only facts that have been twisted in time! Did you know that the names of the Houses were not based to the last names of the founders?! The founders would have had some problems if they really had decided to name the Houses after their last names as Helga Hufflepuff was in fact the sister of Godric Gryffindor! And Rowena Ravenclaw was his wife! And then there is the fact that Slytherin was a heal…"

"Filius, please!" Albus interrupted. "I am sure we can discuss this another time. Now we should turn our awareness to the resent problems."

"Oliver Twist" McGonagall guessed.

"Yes" Albus answered sighing. "Him also."

"What else?"

"Harry" Albus answered. "I fear he might be slowly influenced by Voldemort. He should not have known what he knew at the trial… I need you to look out for him. If he really is starting to be influenced we must know it as fast as possible to stop the influence."

"Influenced… how?"

"I am sorry, Minerva" Albus said sighing. "I am not sure. What I know is that Harry has a connection to Voldemort and I guess that now that Voldemort has his body back he might somehow have found a way to influence young Harry."

Minerva McGonagall looked at him in dismay.

"What should we do?"

"Watch him. If he displays an a-typical behaviour come to me instantly. It might safe Harry's life if you do."

"We understand" Minerva said, nodding. The other teachers also nodded their content.

"Thank you. Now…"

"And what will we do about this Twist-fellow?" Minerva McGonagall interrupted Albus.

Albus just shrugged.

"Until now he did nothing that is worrisome. We should read his articles and act when it changes but I would let him be until he does something more then questioning the Ministry and the _Daily Prophet._"

"But his last article was about Hogwarts!" Minerva McGonagall said worriedly. "What if he starts to criticize us? He is after all a student at Hogwarts – and Xenophilius Lovegood has shown him that he can write what he wants and that no-one will reprimand him for it."

"I do not believe he will start to criticize us badly" Albus answered confidentially. "He might have written an article about Hogwarts but there was nothing bad in it…"

"And it was definitely based on the truth" Filius Flittwick added.

"I am quite sure that the young man will soon stop writing again – after all he will have classes to attent and then there are his homework and his friends. I am sure whoever it is will soon have no time anymore to write…"

Minerva McGonagall just pressed her lips together but said nothing anymore. There was no arguing with Albus. If he wanted to be blind he was until it was too late. That Twist had already started his doings at Hogwarts with his last article, Albus would not see until it was shoved into his face.

So they turned to the more important tasks for the next school year.

Albus had forgotten all about the article Oliver Twist had written when the meeting finally ended. He had other things in his mind. Like the weapon that might be turning into a weapon for Voldemort. Albus would have to look closely at the boy – and he would have to decide on the next step he had to take…

"Maybe it is time to teach Harry some things he might need against Voldemort… and maybe I should ask Severus to teach him Occlumency…" Albus thought and returned to his study, not seeing the little shadow of a house-elf popping out of existence after hearing everything they had discussed in the meeting today, not knowing that somewhere in the castle the boy he was thinking about, was briefed on everything that had been discussed in the meeting today.

"I see" the boy said after hearing everything. "Well, let's show the almighty Albus Dumbledore that Twist is not taken lightly. Let the war being." The boy knew that whoever would have the longer breath would finally win. But it did not matter at all. The boy had strings he could pull the old man wasn't even aware of.

Harry was sure, that in the end he would win this little war he had started against the Headmaster of the renowned school of magic – even if it might cost Harry everything he had to bring the old man down to his feet...

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	28. Chapter 27: Take Down Target No 1

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Take Down Target Number One**

sss

Severus Snape was sure that something was wrong today.

It was his first lesson of the year with the fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins this year. But something was somehow… different… wrong maybe – and Severus could not figure out what had changed so suddenly that he felt disturbed.

So he stood in front of his classroom and looked at the class, trying to place his feeling of wrongness…

What in Merlin's name was wrong with this silent brewing class?!

xXxXxXxXxXx

Harry was standing in the classroom. In front of him was his bubbling cauldron. Next to him were Hermione at his left and Neville at his right. Ron was situated next to Hermione. Harry had been the one to arrange his place – simply because he remembered all too well Hermione's kind help to Neville, a help that in all these years unfortunately had not helped Neville at all…

"No Ron!" Hermione hissed at that moment. "Don't do it like that! It says crushing – can't you read?!"

Like Harry had thought – no help at all. But on the other hand it was Ron…

Harry ignored them both.

He knew that Hermione tried to channel a genius in every class she was taking – but he also knew that her potion was slightly off. Of course for a beginner it was definitely good enough – but every potion master in the world would feel ashamed if he had produced something like that…

Still Hermione acted as if every brewer should be proud of her result.

Harry squeezed the next ingredient to get the juice. He did not even look at the instructions on the board.

"Harry! You have to slice it – can't you read?!" Hermione hissed.

"I can," Harry answered. "But I do not need to read wrong instructions."

And with that he entered the juice of his ingredient in his potion. It turned a lovely sky-blue color. Then he stirred and golden stripes started to mar the blue.

Without looking up and also without stopping stirring, Harry reached with his left hand to Neville and stopped him from adding an ingredient.

"The nettles first, Neville" he said without looking up. "And wait another two minutes. Your potion does not smell as if it has simmered enough."

Neville next to him blinked.

"But… but the instruction says…" he stuttered.

"You forgot the frog-blood earlier" Harry answered absentmindedly. "When you add the nettles first and then add the frog-blood you can remedy your mistake. Just don't add the Asphodel until you have added the frog-blood or your cauldron will blow up. Your potion is simply not stable enough without it."

"Harry" Hermione said in that moment. "You forgot to add the flour!"

"It's used as a stabilizer, Hermione" Harry answered shrugging. "I don't need it. My potion is stable."

"But…"

Harry just added the next ingredient to his cauldron. The healing balsam they were brewing turned silver with green streaks. Harry looked at it critically and then smelled in the air.

"All right" he murmured, reaching out again, this time to Ron to stop him from cutting his ingredient.

"No force, Ron" he told his friend while he was still concentrated on his own potion. "Think simply of it as butter in the sun. You don't need strength to cut nearly molten butter."

"Uh… okay, Harry" Ron said, changing his way he held his knife. Then he scrutinized his ingredient critically before he started to softly cut it.

Harry instead reached in his robe and extracted a little bag. He opened it and threw some herbs in his potion.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed horrified. "Peppermint?! Are you crazy?!"

XxXxXxXxXx

The class was silent.

_The class was silent!_

Suddenly Severus Snape knew exactly what was wrong with this class! Normally Draco Malfoy would have tried to taunt Harry Potter at this point of time! And normally the imbecilic Neville Longbottom would have nearly blown up his cauldron at least three times by now!

_That _was wrong with this class!

Severus Snape searched for Longbottom between the other students and found him next to Potter – a Potter who did _not_ read the instructions at the board!

"Imbecilic, arrogant boy!" Severus Snape muttered to himself and strode over to Potter just to see the boy taking out something out of his robe and throwing it in the potion in front of him.

_Dunderhead!_

"… Are you crazy?!" he heard Granger hiss horrified and he hurried over to stop the dunderhead Gryffindor from blowing them all up…

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Are you crazy?" Hermione hissed.

In that moment Snape entered the hearing range of the table.

"Potter!" he growled. "What are you do…?"

Harry stopped Neville from stirring.

"The Asphodel first, Neville" he said, stirring his own potion.

Snape instead stood in front of his cauldron gawking.

"What have you done, Potter?!" the potion master finally hissed.

Harry looked up from his cauldron, extinguishing the flame beneath it with a wave of his hand.

"I brewed, sir" he answered respectfully. "I did as I was told, professor."

The professor just stared at the potion in Harry's cauldron.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Severus Snape was not sure what to think.

The potion was perfect.

_The potion was perfect!_

How by Merlin's soggy underpants could this arrogant Gryffindor… this dunderhead Potter!... create a _perfect_ potion?! Severus Snape would have been able to understand if the potion had been brewed better than normal. He even could have accepted it if Potter had created the best potion in class today – wonders happened after all. But a _potion master standard perfect_ potion?! No way by Merlin and Morgana could _Potter _produce something like that…!

His eyes met the eyes of the boy and he struck.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Did I do something wrong, professor?" Harry asked innocently. The answer was a Legilimency attack by Snape. Harry just met Snape's eyes and let his professor's assault splatter against his shields – not that his professor knew that his attack failed.

For his professor it looked like Harry had no shields. Innocent childhood memories were flying openly for the professor to see through Harry's mind. But these memories were nothing that someone could use against Harry. They were innocent. The real troublesome ones were buried behind Harry's invisible shields.

His professor searched Harry's mind for deception. But he did not find any of that.

"Did I make a mistake, professor?" Harry asked softly and respectfully. The man stared at him and withdrew from Harry's mind.

"No" he answered while sounding as if he was tortured to death. "Your potion is decent." And with that he turned and stalked back in front of the class.

Harry grinned and stopped Ron absentmindedly from stirring in the wrong direction.

"Lower the heat, Neville" he told his other companion. "Ron, wrong direction. The other way round. And just three times, not more."

Both boy's blinked and corrected their tasks.

"Harry…" Hermione said. "Did he… did he just call your potion decent?!"

Harry knew that this was a first. Not even the Slytherins received a 'decent' from the potion master. But Harry also knew that boasting was the wrong thing to do now, so he just shrugged and extracted some shrunken vials from his robes. He un-shrunk them and started to fill the vials with his potion. One of the vials he charmed unbreakable and brought it the potion master. The others he stowed away in the many pockets of his robe.

When he gathered his things to wash up he heard a vial falling on the floor.

"Don't worry, sir" he told the professor when he turned and found the potion vial he had given the sour man on the floor. "I know that mistakes like that happen to the best of us. Luckily there is a charm to prevent the breaking of the vials."

"Potter…" Snape hissed, grinding his teeth.

"Yes, professor?" But the sour man said nothing else and Harry simply turned around to gather the rest of his things. He brought them to the sink and let them soak in water.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Severus Snape was watching him the whole time with grinded teeth.

He wanted the child to squirm under his gaze, but the arrogant Gryffindor just started to wash up, absolutely unaffected by Severus Snape's stare…

"Potter!" Severus Snape finally growled. "Detention! Tonight after dinner!"

Not that he had a reason to give a detention – except that there had to be something wrong with the way the boy had produced his potion!

The boy was absolutely horrible at potions – and even if the Headmaster claimed that the Dark Lord was starting to possess the boy there was no explanation. The Dark Lord might be a lot – but he definitely was no potion master. Decent in potions, definitely. But a master, never…

And the potion in Severus Snape's hands was nothing less but master standard…

So the only thing Severus Snape could do was to give the boy detention and rile him up. To his utter surprise the reaction to his unjust detention was anything but what he thought it would be…

xXxXxXxXx

Harry knew he had done nothing to get the detention – and even Snape seemed lost to find a reason for the detention. Still, Harry just inclined his head.

"Yes, sir" he answered, still respectfully.

For a moment his teacher looked at him utterly flabbergasted. Harry knew why. Snape had hoped to rile Harry up – instead Harry had not reacted as he had hoped.

"And twenty points from Gryffindor!" Snape added nastily.

"Yes, sir" Harry said and returned to his seat. He was just in time to stop Hermione from letting her next ingredient fall in her cauldron.

"Caution, Hermione. It would do no good if you would let it fall in the potion. This one has to be stirred in." he told her while thinking about something totally different – namely the reasons of a sour potion master and his hatred for Harry.

Hermione blinked.

"Harry, how… how do you suddenly know…" she stopped when Harry suddenly threw his hand out. Two gold glittering runes shot through the classroom and a shield sprang up around the potion of Theodore Nott from Slytherin.

Not a second too late. The next second an explosion sounded through the dungeons and one moment no-one could see anything but smoke. Then Snape waved his wand and the air cleared again. He stared at his Slytherin with absolute loathing in his eyes.

The cauldron was ash but Theodore Nott wasn't injured. A golden shimmering shield shielded him and the rest of the class from the potion and the rest of the cauldron.

"Nott" Snape hissed. "Detention. Tonight."

The Slytherin shook under the gaze his Head of House sent him.

Harry growled but stayed silent.

"Your potion is ready, Neville" he finally said his voice still slightly shaking with rage. "Bottle it up. It's not perfect but it's usable. Ron, stir again counter clock wise and then also bottle up. And Seamus – when you do that your potion will end up the same way Nott's did!"

The afore mentioned Gryffindor's stirring spoon clattered when he let it drop in surprise. Then he blinked and looked at the instructions again. He blushed, added flour and then took the stirring spoon again. With a careful glance at the not protesting Harry he started to stir.

Harry just let his gaze sweep through the class, looking for mistakes.

He was angry with himself. He should have seen that Nott was doing something wrong! Instead he had just seen it in time to prevent the boy from getting injured!

It took him until he left the classroom to realize that he was a _student _and not a teacher. It had never been his mistake to begin with but the potion master's who had more enjoyed to taunt Gryffindors then looking after the potions of his wards…

And still Harry blamed himself. He should have seen it – he had been a teacher for many years…

Hermione and Ron were looking at him strangely for the rest of the day but when Hermione finally asked how he was able to know all that today in potions, Harry simply said that he had memorized his potion books. And somehow he really had. He knew them all by heart – even if he never actually had tried to memorize them…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The next class was Divination. They duty: dream oracle.

Harry nearly groaned when he took out his Divination book. He could not believe that the original Harry had taken such a useless subject!

Well, Harry did not argue that there were some individuals who could _see_ part of the future. But to be able to_ see_ you had to have it in your genes – and Harry definitely didn't and never would. He simply was not a descendant of a centaur born! And they were the only ones that ever showed the ability to _see _anything at all…

So Harry did the only thing he could in a useless class like that: he faked his work and then took out another piece of parchment to write down some other things he was thinking about like the work he had to do on the wards.

He knew that the wards looked absolutely dreadful – in fact they were worse than he had predicted, worse enough to give him a constant headache…

"What are you doing, Harry?" Ron asked in that moment and Harry placed his hand on the parchment with his ideas so that Ron couldn't read it.

"Doodling" he answered his friend. "Sorry, Ron. Let's continue."

And with that Harry packed away his parchment with ideas and concentrated again on the useless class he was taking. Maybe he could go to McGonagall and asked her to change classes…

Regrettably he would blow his cover very fast if he requested to take Arithmancy or Ancient Runes because there was no way that the original Harry could know enough of any of these classes to pass his OWLs…

_On the other side…_

"Maybe later" Harry concluded finally. "First I should go and find a way for Reg to enter Hogwarts again… and then the wards… and Snape… I think I have enough to do for the next fortnight…"

And regrettably he had, so instead of planning to change electives, Harry suffered through this utter useless class and finally left with Ron.

"And now Defense" Ron said. "I hope she's better then she looks like…"

Harry doubted it. And just a short time later he was sadly proven right…

Defense class was a joke, Harry soon decided. Professor Umbridge would have done well in staying away from a classroom. The book they had been assigned to read was just theoretical and when Hermione pointed out that there was nothing mentioned about practicing the spells they got into a discussion with their new teacher.

Harry just sat back and watched them interact. It was not even ten minutes into class when he was finally absolutely sure that Hogwarts would have better done without Professor Dolores Umbridge as a teacher. Umbridge clearly did not want to hear any critique by anyone and she definitely did not care the slightest about the students she would teach. This final conclusion was just emphasized when Professor Umbridge spoke about her plans for class.

"_Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" _Professor Umbridge said_, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up._

Harry just sat back and admired Parvati's courage, after all until now Umbridge had dismissed everything Hermione or Dean Thomas had said. To try again – well, let's say that was definitely Gryffindor…

"_Parvati Patil" _Parvati said her name first like they had been asked to do, before she added._ "And isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"_

"_As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions" said Professor Umbridge dismissively._

"_Without ever practicing them beforehand?" said Parvati incredulously, "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"_

"_I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough…"_

"I fear there are still people in this class who will have trouble without practicing the spells beforehand, Professor" Harry said, finally having enough. "It would do them no good if they have to cast the spell the first time for their exam."

Umbridge turned to Harry. Her face was blank but Harry could see the distaste in her eyes and in that moment he knew he would not leave this classroom without a detention.

"Do you doubt the ability of your classmates, Mr Potter?" she asked him.

"I didn't," Harry answered. "But there are always those that are nervous. It is easier for them to practice beforehand just to know that they can do it, Madam."

"So you're telling me that the only reason you want to practice is for your examination?" her eyes looked at him in challenge.

"Should there be another reason, Professor?" Harry asked coolly.

"Do not mock me, Mr Potter. I am well aware of your illusions and the lies you spread in the summer!" the Professor hissed.

"I do not remember any lies, Madam" Harry answered calmly. "I was at my relatives the most of my summer holidays – as they are Muggles I did not talk with them about anything of the magical world. The only contact I had with the magical world were the Dementors and the Wizengamot and I do not remember lying to any of them."

"Lies, Mr Potter! I am well aware of what you talked about last summer! Everyone knows that you are under the illusion that You-Know-Who's back! You must have talked about this illusion for them to be aware!" Umbridge hissed.

"I did not talk about anything like that in the summer" Harry answered coolly.

"Detention, Mr Potter! First you dared to spread lies and now you deny that you told them!"

Harry just stared at her with cool, calculating eyes. He knew that the reason for his detention was not good enough to even lose house-points but he decided to not go against her. He had no time for her disbelieve and hate.

"You will spend the rest of this week in detention with me, Mr Potter" said she.

Harry just looked at her.

"We will begin this afternoon at five o'clock."

"I already have detention today, Madam" Harry said calmly. "Professor Snape gave it to me this morning."

"Is that so?" she said, looking at him as if he was an insect she wanted to crush beneath her shoe. "Well, then I simply have to take the whole next week as I am sure that it will take some time for your lesson to sink in."

"As you wish, Professor."

She had sneered at him but then set her detention for the next week. Harry was alright with that – at least for now. He definitely would come back to her as soon as he was ready to take another step… and then she would be judged by him like everybody else in this school…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

At that evening after dinner he went to the office of the potion master for his detention.

"Enter" Snape growled when Harry knocked.

Harry did as he was told and waited patiently in front of the teacher's desk until his teacher would look up from the essays he was correcting.

"Tell me how, Potter" Snape finally said coolly pointing with one of his long fingers at the vial with Harry's potion.

"There is nothing I could explain, sir" Harry answered sincerely.

"So you could do it again?" Snape sneered.

"Yes" Harry answered without hesitating.

Snape just snorted.

"Well, we will see" he finally said. Then he led Harry in the classroom and pointed at a working space. "I want another batch of Healing Balsam, a Calming Draught, some Skele-Grow and… well… how about a Dreamless Sleep."

Snape grinned evilly.

"You have until ten o'clock."

Harry knew that Snape had tried to trick him with the potions. When Harry tried to do them one after another he would not even have begun his second when his time was up. The only way to get them ready all in time was brewing them at the same time – an extremely difficult thing to do for even experienced potion masters. For a student it was impossible.

So there was just one reason for Snape to give Harry a task like that.

It was a set-up to destroy Harry's self-esteem.

"Yes sir" Harry simply said while he wondered, what to do next. Should he botch it like every student did? It would be the reasonable thing to do – but Harry wanted to see the potion master all riled up – and doing something even a good student should not be able to do… well, that definitely would let his teacher's head spin. Finally Harry decided that seeing Snape gawking again was definitely worth to show skills Harry shouldn't have and started to look for usable cauldrons. Snape just sneered at him but before he could say another thing it knocked on the door again.

"Enter, Mr. Nott" Snape said, his voice chilly.

Theodore Nott entered. He was pale and definitely nervous.

"Brew it again" Snape said in this icy tone he had been using with Nott since Nott's cauldron exploded. "Do not make another mistake. We will speak afterwards." And with that he swept out of the room.

So they would be alone – disastrous if they really were both inexperienced students. Harry guessed that Snape hoped for a disaster to happen. Well, Harry would definitely not obey the potion master's wishes…

So Harry just started to set up his cauldrons.

"Don't worry" he said to Nott while doing so. "You will succeed this time."

Nott just snorted.

"I am rubbish at potions, Potter" he spat. "And this time I don't have Blaise to guide me when I'm wrong. I will not succeed."

Harry just pointed at a place next to his working space.

"Use this working space and I will tell you what you have to do" he answered while starting to heat his cauldrons to different temperatures.

"As if you could really help me – and as if you would if you could, Potter" Nott just spat.

"I can and I will" Harry answered while starting to prepare his ingredients with experienced motions.

Nott stared at Harry's working hands.

"You really know how to brew, don't you?" he finally asked astonished.

"I do" Harry answered and pointed again at the working space. "Now set up your cauldron."

Nott did as he was told but stopped before lighting the fire.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he asked Harry, looking at the four cauldrons in front of the Gryffindor.

"Brewing" Harry answered sincerely.

"I see that, Potter" Nott said annoyed. "But why do you have four cauldrons in front of you?"

"I have to finalize four potions until ten" Harry answered. "I can just do it when I brew them simultaneously."

"Are you crazy?! You are not a potion master, for Salazar's sake!"

Harry just shrugged.

"Professor Snape's instructions" he answered. "I think he tried to set me up."

"Well – _I _think he set you up! You will never be able to…"

"That's my problem" Harry said. "Yours is another. Start with your potion."

But Nott did not even listen.

"What potions shall you brew? You have not instructions and you also do not have your book out…"

"The Healing Balsam, a Calming Draught, some Skele-Grow and a Dreamless Sleep" Harry answered while adding ingredients left and right in his cauldrons. He heated up the cauldron on the right side, added another ingredient in the left, and then he stirred another cauldron and set the last one's flames down.

"Now start or you will never finish tonight." Harry said.

Nott blinked, then hesitated another minute. Finally he did as he was told.

Harry let him brew while he himself added ingredients, stirred, lowered the temperature or heated the cauldrons more and prepared the next ingredients.

"No, next is the powdered snake fang, Nott" Harry said a few minutes later, stopping Nott with one hand while adding ingredients to one of his own potions with the other.

"You have to grind it more. It has to be really soft powder. When it's ready it feels a little bit creamy" Nott followed Harry's instructions. But Harry did not just instruct. He knew that Nott would not learn anything if he just followed what Harry was telling him, so Harry also added some practical knowledge while he aided the other.

"The powdered snake fang is acid. When you would add the nettle after it, the substance of the nettle would be destroyed before it can react with the potion. Think about it like building a house. You need something between the stones to glue them together. When you don't do it your house will break down with the first storm it is facing…"

When it was half past ten Harry and Nott both bottled their potions.

"You really knew what you were talking about" Nott said, looking at his potion with a flabbergasted look. "I never knew that I would be able to brew something like that all by myself! And I even understand now why I should not do some things!"

Harry snorted at that.

"So Professor Snape does not even teach his own house properly?" he asked while bottling the potion in his next cauldron.

Nott just shrugged.

"I never understood what he was telling us" he said. "It seemed all so complicated. When you told the same it sounded… well… simple."

"Well, Professor Snape is a potion genius" Harry said shrugging. "He might have problems to understand that you are not like him."

Nott snorted.

"Definitely not" he answered. "But you… you are like him, aren't you? I mean: you brewed four potions simultaneously – and you still were able to instruct me properly."

"I do not think very much when I brew something simple like that" Harry gestured at the potions in front of him. "I brewed a lot of more complicated stuff."

"What?" Nott asked half astonished, half interested.

Harry just shrugged and took out of his pockets some potions.

"This is Veritasserum" he said pointing at the clear potion in his hands. "I brewed it in the summer. The next one is a healing draught. It's for internal injuries. I brewed it last year on Midwinter. The last one is Felix Felicis – you know liquid luck. I brewed it the summer before last."

Nott just stared at the potions in Harry's hands.

"Why by Salazar and Mordred did you ever have nearly failing grates in potions?!" he asked flabbergasted.

"Because I saw no benefit in showing my talents to someone who wanted to hate me because of my father" Harry answered shrugging. "I thought I was rubbish in potions because our esteemed potion master told me so. It took some time until I understood that I was utterly wrong about that."

Nott just snorted.

"I cannot believe no-one told you!"

"I am Muggle-raised" Harry pointed out. "And there was no-one who ever explained this world to me… well, there was no-one until last summer."

Nott just stared at him.

"But you are a Potter!" he finally said.

"No" Harry answered smiling. "I am more than just a Potter. But even if I am – there are some persons who like me being clueless. They like it so much I did not even get the typical introduction in the wizarding world the Muggle-born get – but enough of that. We should clean up."

Nott sighted and carried his empty cauldron to the sink.

Harry frowned, and then he sighted and shook his head.

"Let me do it or you will have to scrub endlessly" he said sighting. Then he drew a single rune on every used cauldron. The cauldrons glowed blue – and then they were clean again.

Nott stared at the clean cauldrons.

"It was you!" he suddenly said.

Harry frowned again.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"It was you! You were the one who shielded me! I could not understand where the shield had come from and Blaise didn't know either. We thought that maybe Professor Snape… but it was you!"

Harry stared at the cauldrons and then back at Nott's face.

"And if it had been me?" he asked cautiously.

Nott just stared at him.

"Why?" he finally managed to asked. "Why did you do it?! You are a Gryffindor and I a Slytherin – you hate me just because of that!"

"I would be a hypocrite if I did" Harry answered snorting.

"Pardon?" now Nott was utterly confused.

Harry jut smirked.

"I am no Gryffindor" he finally confessed grinning. Nott blinked.

"You know that your school uniform says you are, don't you?" he finally commented.

"Oh, I know" Harry answered smiling. "I asked the Hat not to be put in Slytherin."

Nott stared at Harry.

"But… but why?!"

"Because I was a child" Harry answered amused and then added to his story. After all – why not give this Slytherin in front of him something to chew on for the next few weeks or month... "I was Muggle-raised and the only things I heard about Slytherin were bad. Of course I didn't want to be there."

"So… so you just begged it to change your house?!"

"Yes" Harry answered. "Now I find it utterly amusing. When there would be someone who would belong to Slytherin it is I."

Harry knew that if he ever would have been sorted instead of the original Harry, there would have been no way that Harry Potter would have been a Gryffindor. Harry might be brave if he had to – but he was far too Slytherin to ever be a Gryffindor and far too Ravenclaw to ever go into Gryffindor even if he had ask the Hat not to be put in Slytherin…

"But why…" Nott said.

Harry just smiled. In that moment he felt a soft tingling in the back of his mind.

Their time was up.

"One day I might tell you" he said. "But not today. We get a visitor in a minute. The professor returns."

And Harry was right. Just a minute later the door opened again and Snape entered. He stopped in the door and stared at the two students in front of him that placed the last vials with ingredients back where they belonged.

"What…?" he said, but Harry interrupted.

"Our potions are on the desk, professor" Harry said.

The potion master stalked through the room until he reached the desk with the potion vials. He picked up one of Harry's then he picked up the next. His eyes widened.

"I told you I can do it again, professor" Harry said. "But when you suspect that Mr. Nott aided me I am willing to do it again in front of you."

Snape just stared at the vials, and then he finally sneered.

"I don't think that's necessary, Mr. Potter" he said still sneering. "Give me your potions book."

Harry blinked.

"I do not have it with me, sir" he said. "I'd have to go to Gryffindor tower to bring it."

"Do. Not. Lie. To. Me, Potter!" Snape growled.

"I do not" Harry answered, and simply emptied his school bag on one of the tables. "Look for it yourself."

Snape sneered but he did. He even went as far to test Harry's other books for spells. He did find nothing.

"Very well, Potter. You may go. Nott – follow me" and with that he stalked from the room. Nott had turned pale again when Snape spoke his name. His hands shook. Harry fetched Nott's potion from the table and gave it the shaking boy. Then he took out one of his own potion vials – one of the three he had shown Nott before.

He filled an empty vial with a little bit of his potion and gave it to Nott. "Take it before talking to him" he suggested.

"What…?"

"Felix" Harry simply answered. "I do not know what he normally does to punish his Slytherins – but I know I would never let some of mine come to harm. Take it and whatever it is you are fearing, you will be lucky enough to prevent it somehow. Just trust Felix. He knows what to do."

Nott blinked and stared at the vial in his hands.

"Thank you, Potter" Nott said and downed the vial. "And I don't fear the Professor; I fear my parents. He calls them when we do something wrong… and my parents are horrible."

And with that he left.

Harry stayed behind and waited until the door closed again. Then he smiled and started to hum. He was alone in the potion classroom. There would come no-one anymore for today…

"Why not brewing something enjoyable" he asked himself smiling. And with that he returned to the cauldrons in the corner and picked one of them. He sat it up and started to brew again.

There was a reason he once had been a potion master and teacher, after all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Later that evening Severus Snape was sitting in his office. The conversation with Theodore Nott's parents had gone better then he thought it would and now he had the rest of the evening free…

So he sat at his desk, five potion vials in front of him. He stared at them. No, he glared at them.

They. Were. Wrong!

Well, they weren't. The potions they carried were perfect. Potion master standard perfect.

But exactly that was the problem.

They shouldn't be perfect! And it was driving him insane that he didn't know how they were!

The Potter boy had brewed them – Severus Snape had even gone so far to use Legilimency on Nott to verify it. _So how?!_

_How?!_

_By Merlin! It was driving him insane!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	29. Chapter 28: 900-1000AD Building A School

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Thanks to __**Danneyland **__for beta-ing._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhen between 900 and 1000 AD**

**Building A School**

sss

After they returned home from the Gathering, they told the ladies that they could go ahead and plan the new form of apprenticeship.

"The lads will arrive after harvest, and will have to return home for every harvest that follows," Peverell said.

Sal, who was sorting through his potions to decide what he needed to brew more often in the future, stopped sorting and turned to Peverell.

"Lads?" he asked, surprised. "You will take on only the boys?"

It was Rowena who shrugged.

"There is no way for Peverell, Godric or you to teach a lass," she said. "So of course they will just send you the lads. Every lass that will need to be taught will be taught the basics by her father like it has always been."

"But you …"

This time it was Helga who answered him smiling.

"We are both married woman and when we teach Godric or Peverell will always be in the same room with us – if it wasn't like that, it definitely wouldn't be proper for us, you know?"

Sal wanted to protest but his education on Arthur's court stopped him from doing so. You did not argue with a lady …

So he just hissed his displeasure in Parseltongue under his breath. Peverell and Godric both looked at him with interest when they heard him speak but neither said a word.

"So you will not teach the lasses," Salvazsahar finally concluded sighing. "That's not truly fair, isn't it? Rowena and Helga are after all at least as intelligent as we are and I am sure they aren't exceptions …"

"So … you want to teach the lasses as well?" Peverell asked surprised.

Sal contemplated this.

"I know it wouldn't be proper to do so," he finally said. "But we should look into it. We shouldn't shun the lasses just because it is improper for them to be somewhere without a male family member."

"Well," Rowena said, after she heard his proclamation. "We should not think about this now. Of course I would wish to teach the lasses as well, but I understand that it's impossible for now. Instead we should look at those we can teach for now – and for that we will have to decide what we want to teach our apprentices."

Sal just sighed and closed his eyes. He was not truly satisfied with just teaching the boys for now, but he also knew that there was no way to establish an education for the girls with the current societal standards. After all, they had just talked about the boys all along – and the other four were definitely children of their time …

"I know what I will teach," Godric answered Rowena promptly. "Battle Magic and Weaponry. I planned to teach them that since the day you asked me to aid you in your plans."

"You know that you also will have to teach them how to ride a horse, Godric," Sal entered the discussion, deciding to think about the girl-problem another time. "It's a useful skill, but not many have any experience in riding."

"Well yes, that also…"

"And etiquette. You are a Lord, you should know it well enough to teach it to the young ones," Sal added. Godric grumbled but nodded.

"Well, if you are teaching etiquette you may also include writing," Rowena added sweetly. "That way, we will be sure they know it and we won't have any trouble deciding who will teach them…"

Sal just shrugged. Writing was an important skill – but there was far too little parchment available to bother teaching writing first. Most of the things that the apprentices would learn they would have to learn by heart, as there was no way to use parchment for something that required physical practice.

"Well – I will teach them Transfiguration, as I am a master myself," Rowena said. "I will also teach them Arithmancy and Astrology. They will need Arithmancy for Transfiguration and Astrology is generally useful to everyone. They need to know what time of the year it is, after all."

"You are a Transfiguration master?" Sal asked, surprised.

Rowena shrugged.

"Father was one as well. A woman who knows more than the basics in magic will have a better chance to marry someone of high standing – after all, she will have the knowledge to teach her sons before they start their apprenticeship and that will broaden their spell-knowledge far more than just the apprenticeship."

"Then shouldn't we also accept lasses for this exact purpose?"

"We definitely wouldn't turn them away if their fathers ask for them to be here," Peverell answered shrugging. "But the chance that they do will be slim…"

"It will be," Helga said. "Maybe if Rowena and I offer to teach the lasses separately, at a time when there are none of the other apprentices … maybe we could send the lads home a little bit before harvest and then invite the lasses for a few weeks to learn some things – you know, the weeks when the Gathering of the Lords is taking place. We would all be in Londinium for the Gathering anyway – so why not take the lasses aside and teach them? No one could complain, as the lords of the clans would still be there, and a father or brother could accompany the lass in question so all would be proper. We could aid their teaching with household spells and herb lore – something that every sorceress needs. The sorcerers would not need these classes anyway, so there would be no argument from that angle."

"I think they should know some of it as well," Sal said frowning. He still wasn't pleased by the idea to teach the girls for only a few weeks in the year – but for the beginning, something was better than nothing. "Maybe you could teach them those spells as well, when we have them as our apprentices …"

"Household charms for lads?" Helga asked, sceptical.

"Or you simply add other useful charms to your class, and simply call the class 'Charms'," Sal interrupted.

"I do not think that men need to know such things …"

"Maybe they don't," Sal acquiesced. "But what about future widowers? They might need it then – or do you want them to die because their wife perished and took away the knowledge of how to cook?"

"The sorcerers won't like …"

"They do not have to," Sal interrupted. "But do you really want them to grow up as useless as Godric?"

"Hey!" Godric exclaimed good-naturedly, but Helga looked at him thoughtfully.

"No," she finally said. "I don't. You're right. I will also look for other spells they might need that I will teach."

"So your class will be 'Charms' and not 'Household Spells," Sal concluded. "What about also adding a creature lore class to your herb lore? The boys might need the creature lore more than the herb lore but both might be good to know for both genders …"

"We won't teach the lasses that, Salazar," Rowena rebutted.

Sal just shrugged. Of course they wouldn't at first – but he definitely planned to add the girls as soon as he could. He just had to think around the hindrance of tradition and what was seen as proper … but in a few years' time …

Helga looked at him oddly for a moment as if she was trying to read his mind, but then she just shrugged.

"I might as well add herb lore and creature lore to the teaching of our apprentices …" she gave in.

"And we also should teach them the mind arts," Sal added. "I do not like the thought of them being unprotected – and the mind arts will also aid them in their studies, so that will be another benefit for them."

And the mind arts were needed. Even the females were taught them – Sal had tested the shields of Rowena and Helga both. He was sure that it was not by chance that he had not been able to read the minds any of the sorcerer or sorceress he had met.

It seemed it was part of the typical education – Sal guessed it was to keep family secrets and other secrets they were taught by their masters.

"Well – I won't teach them," Godric said in that moment. "I am not really good in them and I would not want to teach them something I am faulty at, at best."

"I also won't," Rowena said. "The mind arts are a complicated thing to teach. I do not know enough to even think about teaching them." The other two just nodded.

Sal stared at all of them.

"How can you not know?!" he finally asked astonished and then decided to bait them just because he could. "There are a lot of Legilimens out there, and you go around unprotected and not even concerned for what they can plant in your head?!"

"Oh, shut it, Salazar! We're not unprotected! We're simply not very good in the mind arts!" Rowena exclaimed and Sal suppressed a grin when she took his bait and got a little bit riled up. "We're good enough to get by but not good enough to teach. But you may do it when you are certain they should learn. You seem to be really good; you seemed horrified when we told you we weren't."

They argued for another half an hour, but Sal finally gave in to their demands and added the mind arts to the list of classes he was responsible for – not that he hadn't known from the start that he would give in, in the end...

"You will also have to teach them potions," Rowena added.

Sal just sighed.

"And Runes," he said. "I want them to be able to write and speak Brezhoneg like they were born with the knowledge. I would not trust them to attempt hexes and curses in runes without this knowledge … and we will have to combine runes and Arithmancy somewhere in their schooling. It would be good for them to have experience in combining them …"

Rowena nodded.

"Maybe when they're twenty or twenty-one," she said. "When we take them in at fifteen that would give us five years to …"

"Fifteen?!" Sal interrupted this time, truly astonished. "Why do you want to wait until they are fifteen to teach them?!"

"Because their magic needs to be matured to teach…" Godric said surprised. "Don't you know this fact?!"

Sal stared at Godric, then at Rowena, Helga and Peverell. They all stared back at him.

Finally Sal shook his head and sighed again.

"What by fire, ice, and the fairies have you been taught when you were children?!" he finally asked, exasperated, while rubbing his forehead.

"Salazar? What are you talking about?" Rowena – of course.

"The first time a child's magic matures is when they reach their tenth or eleventh year of life," he answered finally. "After that you can start teaching. The second time they mature will be between fifteen and nineteen, the last time between twenty and twenty-three. There is no logical explanation why you should wait until their second maturity to start training them …"

"An apprenticeship always starts when you turn fifteen, Sal," Rowena said. "You should know this. You are a healer – you should have started …"

"I was trained since I was eleven years of age," Sal answered sincerely. "My father would have been horrified if it had been different. Not training a child in their first maturity will just lead to a lot of accidental magic – and that's something I would like to try and stifle. It's not good for the child to start training years after they had their maturity. There is a lot they will be forever unable to learn simply because their parents waited too long to train them …"

"So … you propose that we will start with their training as soon as they turn eleven?!" Peverell asked, starting at Sal as if he was crazy.

"Yes," Sal answered coolly.

"We always waited until…" Godric started.

"How about trying it out?" Rowena interrupted, staring at Sal with thoughtful eyes. "We can always change the age to that of the normal apprenticeships if it does not work – and it would give us some more time to train them. I do not think the lords would mind if we also took in the younger children…"

Peverell stared at her, and then shrugged. "It's your apprenticeship. If you want to try, try it. I do not mind either way."

"That's because you refuse to aid us with it, my dear husband," Helga said snorting.

"Oh, I will help you, I am here after all. I might as well use some of my skills to prevent a total failure," Peverell answered scowling. "I will teach them history, law and politics – someone has to, after all."

"I knew you would see reason," Helga answered smiling.

Peverell just scowled even more and then turned and left the room.

"Well – back to the lesson plan," Helga said cheerfully.

They decided to start with eleven years of age for their apprentices.

The next few months they decided on lesson plans, the costs of the schooling – they had to add a price because the lords firstly expected to pay for the apprenticeship and secondly they needed the money to pay for the meals and the other things the children would need. After that they sent out letters to the lords.

They finally started the school exactly one year after the Gathering of the Lords where they had spoken about their idea, in Peverell and Helga's home – a home that now also inhabited Sal, Godric and Rowena and nearly twenty students.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The first class Sal taught was … strange.

It was entirely different to stand in front of a bunch of students that looked at you with eager eyes then to sit there and wait for a professor to speak.

He stared at them and suddenly the words Severus Snape had used in his own first class returned to him – or would it be 'would use'? Time-traveling definitely wasn't good for your tenses…

But still… the words of his teacher were burned in his mind and when he started the class, he could not help it, he just had to…

"_You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making_," he exclaimed, repeating exactly what his potion's professor had … would use in his class. Well – not exactly. He did not want to insult any of his students when they never even had a potions class before that. He wanted to capture them, to draw them in – speaking about 'foolish' wand-waving and 'dunderheads' wouldn't do that…

"_As there is_ little_ wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you_ listen and follow my lead."

The answer was even wider eyes that were still shining within eager faces, looking at him as if he was their way to heaven. Sal returned their gaze with his own, and then he turned and took one of the ingredients he had prepared before class and showed it to them.

"Is there anybody in this room that knows what that is, and what it is used for?" he asked softly. A lonely hand shot up in the air and Sal smiled.

He was looking forward to teaching.

Well – at least he was until the next two days had passed. After that he got frustrated. He had taught them about the ingredients – then why did he have to repeat himself every time he entered the classroom?! Why couldn't they remember things he had taught them the last time they had classes?! Did they not want to learn?!

He had looked in their faces and thought that they were eager to learn – but now, that seemed to have been an illusion. After all, if they really would have been eager they would know the ingredients he told them about by heart now! So why didn't they?!

_What did he do wrong?!_

_Had he been wrong about their interest in learning?!_

_Had he been wrong about their wish to brew by themselves?!_

He had told them what they could mix, about what they shouldn't mix and about the whys behind that – he had told them again and again. He had to question them every time they had classes and had to supervise their brewing so that he could react before they blew up the room.

It was like swimming through mud. It was tiring and Sal doubted the children learned anything at all.

_But they were eager – weren't they…?!_

_And still …_

_Why?!_

_What did he do wrong?!_

It was simply frustrating.

After two weeks he finally talked to the others.

"They are not learning!" he said. "I thought they were eager to learn – eager to know! But they still do not know more than before!"

Rowena just stared at him as if he was crazy.

"They are fast learners, Salazar," she said. "I just had to tell them three times until they got it right. I do not understand what is bothering you…"

"Yes," Godric said. "They even learned faster than I did. When I was taught my first spell I needed a week to get it right – they just needed four days. They are amazing, even the eleven year olds!"

Sal just gawked at them.

_Fast learners?_

_Amazing?!_

"They are not like you, Sal," Helga said softly. "They need time to remember everything. Be patient and they will get it right…"

"That's not the problem!" Sal cried, just to stop midsentence when Snape came to his mind. Helga was right. That was the problem.

At that moment Sal understood his father. He himself had lived for over a thousand years – he simply had not thought about the problems he had had when he first came to the past. He had never seen the difference between the ability to memorize he had gained from his father and the memory of others as clearly as that day.

It was also that day that he finally understood Severus Snape. Like himself, Snape could not see how a child could not understand potions. Snape might not have an eidetic memory like himself but Snape was a potion-brewing genius. He simply could not understand the problems a normal person had…

Snape had never understood the problem – Sal instead swore that day that he would follow in his father's footsteps and not his potion professor's.

And so he swore to himself to be patient.

"A normal child cannot remember its entire life," he told himself when he had to tell them again and again. "They cannot remember every day and everything they have learned in their entire life. I will have to teach them patiently until they are able to remember…"

And so he did.

At first it was still like swimming through mud. Then the weeks passed and suddenly his students knew things. Suddenly they got them right. But Sal was not content with that. He questioned them again and again until they could answer his questions while sleeping.

He did not stop until they knew all he knew about the ingredients he was talking about by heart and could tell him about them without hesitating.

"You are too harsh on them, Salazar!" Rowena chastised him. "They are children – they do not need to know all that by heart."

"Potions are dangerous," Sal simply replied. "Just one moment can kill you if you are not concentrating. I will not stop teaching them until they do it right without thinking about it first. I want prevent them from killing themselves because of stupidity!"

When Rowena wanted protest against his words, Helga stopped her.

"Let him be," she said. "It is his right to ensure their safety. If he thinks that that is the right way we will not stand in his way to do so, will we?"

Rowena just sighed after that and shook her head.

"We won't," she answered. After that no one criticized Sal again.

At the next Gathering of the Lords in harvest, there were only positive responses to their teaching.

"They learned even more than they would have if they had been apprenticed in the usual way," Lord McGonagall said. "I am impressed by their knowledge. I will definitely send you the rest of our children after the harvest."

The other lords nodded.

"Even the eleven year olds know their magic, and their problems with accidental magic have declined. I will follow Lord McGonagall's lead and send you other children of my clan," another lord said.

This was the time Godric told the other lords about the summer school the two women planned for the girls. At first, the lords were hesitating but finally they decided to try it – after all they were there and the women had nothing to do while the lords gathered…

After the first harvest Sal and the others had thirty more students that wanted to join. The year after that there were even more.

The trial run of the summer classes for the girls a year later brought better results than they thought it would and so the summer classes for the girls by Rowena and Helga were added to their new system.

Soon the five were recommended teachers in the world of sorcerers, and even more lords started to send requests to enter their young ones in either the apprenticeship of Sal and the others or Rowena's and Helga's summer school.

And so they suddenly had fifty more request letters of apprenticeship on their table at the end of the third harvest since opening the school.

"They will not fit into the manor," Peverell sighed when he saw them. "And even with the money we make from teaching them, we cannot build enough rooms so that they would all fit in. We will have to turn away some …"

"Or we change the location," Helga said, who was standing next to him and also looked through the letters together with Rowena and Godric.

"And where do you want to go to, Helga, my dear wife?" Peverell asked with a raised eyebrow. "Do you maybe have somewhere a castle in hiding I do not know of?"

"Well … no … but …"

"So where do you want to go?"

Sal was standing next to the arguing pair. He hesitated just a moment. Then he gave in to his idea – he had to, he had known long ago that he would give in one time.

"I do," he said.

"What?!" Peverell, Helga and also Godric and Rowena who had been following the argument stared at him. "What do you mean, 'I do'?!"

"I have a castle hiding somewhere," Sal answered.

The others blinked.

"You … do …" Peverell said slowly. "How, by Morgana, do you have a castle hiding somewhere?!"

Sal just shrugged.

"It's hidden behind blood and soul wards," he answered. "We could use it if you want."

"Where?!"

"In Pictia," Sal answered. "I can guide you and the students there."

The other ones just stared at him.

Then understanding lit Peverell's eyes.

"You're talking about your ancestral home. You talked about it in the Gathering of the Lords…"

"Yes."

"But … it's your ancestral home …" Godric said.

Sal just shrugged.

"I do not need it – so why not use it for our project?"

The others hesitated, but finally after some arguing the others gave in somehow.

"Let us see it first – then we will decide if we can use it for our students," Peverell finally decided. Sal shrugged and nodded. But he was smirking inwardly. Maybe he would finally have a chance to add the girls to their schooling. He just had to lead the others slowly to his growing plans …

So they started to travel to Pictia three days after. A few weeks later they reached Camelot …

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	30. Chapter 29: 900-1000AD Founding

**_Disclaimer:_**_ not mine. All Rowling's._

**_Information: _**_all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Thanks to **Danneyland **for beta-ing._

_PS:__ **Tsukiyomi Cecilia** decided to aid me with the previous (from Prologue until the chapters Danneyland started to beta) chapters to correct my grammar, so I will (hopefully) soon update those again, corrected this time…_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhen between 900 and 1000 AD**

**Founding Haugh's Wards**

sss

Sal had not told them what castle they were heading to. He knew his friends. Not one of them would accept using the castle if they knew that it was the legendary Camelot.

"Here we are," he finally said, opening the wards so that they could see it. "Welcome to my childhood home." Well, it was his third childhood on King Arthur's court but Sal decided it would be a bad idea to tell them of the technicalities.

"You grew up here?!" Godric asked, astonished.

"Well, somehow," Sal answered. "It was the home of my father. I came here when I turned fifteen. Now my father is dead and it is mine."

"And you haven't been here for how long?" Rowena asked, hesitating. They still had not talked about Rowena's suspicion of who exactly Sal's father had been, and for now she seemed to have forgotten it – something Sal had hoped she would lose track of. Of course, she would one day remember but until then, he was content to act as if she never heard his almost-exclamation about Myrddin when they met.

Sal simply shrugged.

"I do not know," he answered sincerely. "But do not worry. It was under a stasis charm. Nothing should be ruined."

The awe in the faces of the others when they entered was definitely entertaining for Sal.

"So … this castle … it's been empty since the time you decided to travel?" Peverell asked haltingly.

Salvazsahar shrugged.

"It might have," he answered. "But it also might not have."

"Huh?" this unarticulated question was one of Godric's.

"It's a sanctuary," Sal explained. "If someone truly needed it, it would have opened for them until they are ready to leave again. It was always like that – even when my father was still living in this castle."

"A sanctuary?" Rowena asked interested.

Sal just nodded.

"The wards will let anyone who needs to get away from unwanted persons enter. The castle will guard the inhabitants until they are ready to move on. This kind of function is imbedded in the wards and even if you want to, I will not change it. So … even if this castle will be our school, be prepared to accept those who are in dire need of help to find it."

"So … they simply come in? Wouldn't be that a danger to the apprentices?!" Helga exclaimed nervously.

"It won't," Sal answered soothingly. "No one who wants to harm the inhabitants of the castle would be able to enter the wards – in dire need or not. But I had to tell you beforehand that it might come to an unexpected addition if there is someone near who needs help right away."

For a moment the others hesitated, and then Godric shrugged.

"As long as the apprentices are safe," he said dismissively. One after another the others nodded their consent.

A few minutes later, they entered the castle itself and Sal let them explore the rooms and the grounds. He himself settled in the Great Hall and looked at the ceiling.

"I am home, atr," he whispered and a warmth enveloped him, a warmth he had missed dearly. His father was still here – imbedded in the stones of the castle. "I decided to make this castle a school," he told the shadow of his father. "It will be great, I am sure of it. Camelot should have been the beginning of a new world – now it will be. It will change the world with the children that were taught within its walls."

The warmth caressed his hair and for a moment Sal was sure his father was happy with his decision. Sal did not know how long he sat in silence, relishing in the feeling of being caressed by his father, when the doors of the Great Hall opened and Godric strode in.

"This castle is awesome!" he declared loudly. "I found a tower that the apprentices could sleep in – it would be the perfect place for them!"

"You do not mean that far away tower I saw you coming from, do you Godric?" Rowena said while entering behind her husband. "Really, Godric! It would take them far too long to gather when they start their day from there! But you are right. A tower would be a good place for the apprentices. There is a nice tower near here that would be perfect for dormitories!"

Godric just snorted.

"Well, Peverell and I found some nice rooms in the middle of the castle," Helga said, entering from another, smaller entrance. "I think they would be lovely as dormitories – what do you think, love?"

"You are right, my dear wife," Peverell answered nodding. "Quite nice with a lot of space for a lot of apprentices."

Sal just buried his head in his hands.

"How by wind and fire can you start with the search for dormitories already?!" he asked sighing. "We did not even decide if we are changing our teaching place to this castle!"

"Oh, but we have decided," Godric said. "This place is perfect!"

The other three nodded.

"I found some quarters where we and other future teachers could live," Rowena said. "And there is a tower where we could have our official meetings."

"And we can take in all the children that have asked for apprenticeship," Helga said. "There is enough space here for them."

"But we will soon be too few to teach them all," Sal said sighing.

"Soon, but not now," Rowena said. "When we are, we will have to hire others to help us, but for now we do not have to. We are still enough, for now."

"But maybe we should sort the apprentices somehow," Godric said. "So that not everyone looks after every student. It would be easier for the apprentices when they know where to go to and we don't have to look after all of them, too."

"And how do you plan to sort them?" Peverell asked.

"Well, we could sort them by their character, so that their personality fits ours," Helga said enthusiastic.

"Do we really have to?" Sal asked, this time pleadingly.

"Well, I think it is brilliant!" Rowena answered. "It will be easier to gain friends if they have something in common. And we can aid them better if they think like we do."

"But wouldn't it be improper for the children to go to you, Rowena? You are a woman after all – you shouldn't be alone with a male without your brother or Godric nearby …" Sal said.

Rowena just shrugged.

"I do not think the lords care anymore when it is I who breaks tradition," she answered and Sal knew she was right. The last few years she had gained a reputation of a teacher – and her status as a teacher simply out-weighted her status as a female. The last year Godric and Peverell even had stopped bothering to be in the same room when Helga and Rowena were teaching or when the women were with Salvazsahar.

Sal knew that the lords knew and did not object. Godric had brought up his intentions of letting Rowena teach without a male escort at the last Gathering of the Lords and the lords simply had inclined their heads. No, Rowena and Helga definitely had left behind their status as female in the eyes of the world of the sorcerers – of course nothing like that would have happened if Rowena and Helga would not have been married …

"So you have nothing to object anymore?" Helga said when Sal said nothing. He just sighed and shook his head defeated.

"So we will sort them by character," Rowena said triumphantly.

"Well, then you should take those who cannot stop learning," Godric answered teasingly. "You know: all the know-it-alls and book-lovers!"

"And you will take the courageous stupid ones who act before they think," Peverell snorted.

"Well, I would take in all the hard working ones," Helga answered shrugging. "As long as they are loyal to their friends and families, it does not matter what other characteristics they have."

"And you, Peverell?" Sal asked, knowing that there would be no way the man would even think about founding a house.

"I will take in no-one," Peverell answered as predicted. "I am our official face – I have to do enough without having children at my sleeves wherever I go. But you, Salazar, should take in the sly and cunning ones."

"And those with ambition," Helga added.

Sal snorted.

"Every human has ambition. You wouldn't be able to get anywhere in the world without ambition. I don't think that's a trait that should be applied to a house …" he said.

"I think it should!" Helga objected. "It simply fits you to the 'T', Salazar!"

"And why do you think that?" Salvazsahar asked frowning – Sal did not like where this was leading. He had given up correcting them when they said his name wrong but he was not taking in cunning, sly and ambitious children! Definitely not!

"Because that's what you are," Rowena said.

Sal snorted.

"As if," he said coolly.

"Think about it," Godric answered. "You have rescued me once – and you were cunning enough not to storm in. You used tricks to rescue me and the others. Definitely cunning."

"And sly," Helga added.

"And you are ambitious," Rowena said. "You did not let us storm off with half-baked plans. You were ambitious enough to plan ahead, and you do not let your apprentices be anything but the best. And then there is your plan about teaching lasses – don't you dare veto this! I know you haven't given up on that and you and I know you will succeed some day! If that isn't ambition, then what is?!"

"Rena is right," Peverell said. "You want our apprentices to be the very best – and even when they are you want them to be better!"

"Yes, but –" Sal said, still protesting.

"Well, then this is settled," Godric interrupted him. "Next stop: dormitories! My courageous Gryffindors will take the tower I decided on as a dormitory!"

"Gryffindors?!" Helga asked.

"Well – we have to name them something," Godric shrugged. "And I cannot name them 'LeFays', as LeFay is a family name and there would be two of them because Rena's would also be 'LeFays'. And I do not want to call them by my own given name – that would just be strange!"

"So you used your nickname," Peverell said while shaking his head.

"Do you have a better idea?" Godric asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well … no," Peverell answered.

"Well, I like the idea!" Rowena said. "I will also use something like that!"

"Then you should use Raven's claw," Helga said, pointing to Rowena's hand where the parallel scars could be seen. "The raven is a wise bird and the claws would point to you."

"Or you could put it together into Ravenclaw," Godric suggested. Rowena just thought about it for a second. Then she smiled.

"Taken," she declared. "Mine will be the wise Ravenclaws!"

"And I will name mine Huff-the-puff," Helga declared. The other ones stared at her. "What?! I like the sound of it – and I love eating pastry – and that would be 'puff'!"

"But why 'huff'?!" Rowena asked.

Helga just shrugged.

"Because she thinks puffs give off an intoxicating aroma that she wants to smell everywhere …" Peverell answered snorting.

Helga stuck her tongue out at Peverell. Her husband just grinned.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he said smirking.

"Even if you are – I still will call my House Huff-the-puff!"

"At least make it 'Hufflepuff'! Like that no one will know for sure why the House is named like it is – or do you want your apprentices to feel ashamed if they have to tell the name of their house?" Rowena said, rolling her eyes.

Helga shrugged.

"Well, if I have to," she conceded. "Hufflepuff it is. It's a lovely name, isn't it?"

"Well … if you must call them that," Peverell sighed. "They're your apprentices. If you want to call them Hufflepuffs so be it."

"So … that just does leave Salazar's," Rowena said. "How do we call yours?"

Sal frowned. He definitely did not like where their discussion was heading.

"How about 'Sal's'?" he asked.

"Nope, not accepted. We have all used a nickname. You will do so, too."

"Sal is a nickname," Sal defended himself.

"But not a good one for a dormitory," Rowena said.

"Well – my apprentices do not have a dormitory, so why bother with a name?" Sal countered.

"You don't have a place for a dormitory?" Helga asked surprised.

Sal just shook his head.

"I don't," he answered. "All I know is that my classroom will be in the dungeons. I need the steady temperature for my potions ingredients."

"Well – then your dormitory should be near it," Godric decided. "I am sure there are enough rooms in the dungeons for a dormitory."

Sal just sighed. They really wanted to, didn't they?! At least there was no way they would come up with … that … nickname, was there? No, Sal felt content that whatever they decided on – history was not yet written!

"That just leaves the nickname," Helga said in that moment grinning.

"And that should be easy," Rowena continued.

"And we should be the ones to give him this nickname," Peverell said, grinning as evilly as his wife. "How about something with 'sly'?"

Sal suddenly had a really bad feeling about that. _They couldn't … they wouldn't …_

"Well … you should integrate a snake. Look at his clothing. The snake seems very important to him," Godric added.

"Well how about 'slithering'?" Rowena asked. "Like a snake slithers. It would fit. He always startles me because I do not hear him coming!"

"I think 'sly' fits better," Helga countered.

"No, 'slithering' it is," Godric said grinning. "Slithering something or so…"

"I am all for 'sly'!" Peverell added. "Sly something – I think it sounds better than Slithering something…"

"How about nothing?" Sal intercepted, dreading where the conversation was leading.

_History wasn't written yet! The name shouldn't … wouldn't be written in stone!_

"Hush you!" was the answer he got, and all Sal could do was follow the conversation with big eyes.

_They couldn't, wouldn't …_

"May I say some –" he started again, but was rebuked by more than one person – again.

"No! We are the ones who will choose the nickname!" Godric said.

"You did not try when you had the chance," Helga piped in.

"Just wait, Salazar, we're quick with that," the Peverell promised evilly. "We were quick with the other ones also."

"Hey, what about 'Slytherin'?" Rowena said in that moment, grinning. "That would include both 'slithering' and 'sly'!"

_They had …_

"Good idea, Ravenclaw!" the Godric said now also grinning evilly, the others nodded their content.

"Well – Slytherin it is," Peverell said, still grinning.

"And if I don't like it?" Sal asked just one more time trying to prevent his fate.

"You have no say in it, Slytherin," Godric said laughing. "I had no say in mine, you have no say in yours – easy, isn't it."

"But the others …"

"You did not want to take your chance – and now you are stuck with what we have chosen for your apprentices," Rowena reminded him.

"Yes," Godric said. "And it fits to our names. Look at it like that, will you?"

"What do you mean now, oh brother mine?" Helga asked.

Peverell just suddenly burst out laughing.

"You're right, Godric. It does fit! Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff – Salazar had to get something with S! Salazar Slytherin definitely fits perfectly!"

Sal just sighed inwardly.

The others were idly planning the layout of the new classes inside the castle. They all were content with their chosen names – all but Sal. But the others had not been named after the villain – and the others did not know about the future…

"Now I just have to find a Basilisk and ask it to move in …" he thought sarcastically.

"Come on, Salazar! You will learn to live with it. Salazar Slytherin really sounds good, you know? We should become famous with these names!" Godric said. "And it would distinguish between us. There will be less problems if we ourselves also go by our chosen names, how about that, Professor Slytherin? You have no idea how funny that will be!"

"And you have no idea that you just have named me the fourth founder of the first magic school in the world," Sal thought sighing again inwardly. "And not only the fourth founder, but the 'evil' one."

So there was just one question left: What had Sal done to get his evil image in the future – because he was sure, that he would not choose the path of evil in the next few decades …

"Come on, Salazar!"

This time Sal shook his head and cleared it from his thoughts. He had to do other things – like planning the dorms for his Slytherins and the change of the castle …

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

And indeed, the castle did change. While the children were away for harvest, the teachers decided to prepare the castle for the apprentices – well they prepared it somehow, Sal just doubted it really was solely for the apprentices … or at all for the apprentices …

So one day Sal woke up and walked in the Great Hall – just to find the ceiling looking like the weather outside.

"How do you like it, Salazar?" Rowena asked grinning. "Helga and I have worked on a charm like that for years. We thought that applying it here would be great."

"It is," Sal answered, staring at the ceiling that he once loved so much. The ceiling of his first home.

In that moment Godric entered.

"Who enchanted the stairs to move?!" he asked astonished and slightly cross. "They all moved away as soon as I was near them!"

"Well, they still need fine-tuning," Rowena answered. "But it will be great as soon as I am ready. And don't worry – I will key them to our wishes."

"Nice," Helga commented when she entered together with her husband. "Who enchanted the stairs? I like them!"

Godric just sighed and looked pleadingly at Sal. Sal shrugged.

"I live in the dungeons. The stairs definitely don't bother me," he said, inwardly grinning.

"You're evil, Salazar," Godric commented. "Really, really evil!"

Sal just shrugged and decided to seal the servants' stairs and secret passages in the walls with Parseltongue – that would prevent Rowena from finding and hexing them – and it definitely was 'hexing' even if she would object and call it 'charming' – and as a bonus it would prevent Godric from using something different then the main stairs …

And Godric deserved it. Sal had not yet forgiven him for the idea to nickname the dormitories and themselves …

So Sal finally fled from the breakfast table to seal the servant stairs before Rowena could find them. The only thing that was left in the end, were little stone snakes where there once had been the entrances to the servant stairs.

"That should do it," Sal decided, still grinning.

Peverell instead decided to secure his own rooms – the so called public rooms – from his sister. He enchanted a gargoyle and the stairs so that they would move upwards. The gargoyle instead became the guard of his office – an office that later the Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts would use.

Helga, Godric and Rowena took his idea and changed the doors to their dormitories so that they would just open with a password. Godric hung the portrait of his mother in front of the entrance of his dorms.

"This way, I don't have her following me everywhere at home," he told them when he was questioned about his choice.

Rowena just enchanted the door handle to ask riddles before entering.

"So they will get used to solving riddles," she told them.

Helga also used a portrait for her entrance in the dorms and the rhythm of her nickname for the entry.

Sal had watched them all until he knew all their securities and safe-guards, then he simply vanished the entrance to his dorms so that just a simple stone wall was left. He secured the wall with a password and a security code in Parseltongue for himself.

"Godric," Sal said one day.

"Huh?"

"I need some inspiration for my dorms …"

Godric looked at him blankly for a moment, then his eyes brightened.

"Oh! Sure! Do you want to see mine?"

"Er … may I?"

"Of course! Come on, let's go to Gryffindor tower to have a look!"

When they reached the portrait, Godric stated the password and they entered.

The room was red.

Absolutely red.

Swamped with red.

And whatever wasn't red was gold.

"Great, isn't it?" Godric said. "I colour-charmed it myself; I thought I could make those two colours the colours of Gryffindor crest …"

Sal just thought that someone in the future must have dimmed the colour scheme.

"Er … yes, great … now I definitely have inspiration…" Sal said.

"Great."

Sal just was happy to leave again after he had been shown the dorm rooms for the boys and the added washrooms – not that there was any plumbing. The washroom was connected to a charmed pipe which ended in a tub to bring in fresh water and a dumpster pipe to bring away the used water. It was something Helga had thought of and the other founders had adopted her idea.

Sal guessed that the original method never fully changed even to his original time – not that he could prove it, stuck in the past as he was.

So when Sal finally fled Godric he ran straight to Helga.

"Helga," he said. "May I see your dormitories? I need something to purge from my eyes the shocking colours I saw a few minutes ago."

Helga just raised an eyebrow at him.

"What did you do, Salazar?" she asked.

"I thought it was a good idea to ask Godric for inspiration for my dormitories …"

"Ouch," said Helga. "I guess we should hope Godric's apprentices are colour blind … well, come on. I'll show you."

A few minutes later Sal had entered his second dormitory for the day.

Helga's dorms were decked out in black and yellow.

"I decided on those two colours for my crest," she explained.

"Crest?!" Sal said. "Why are all people suddenly talking about crests today?"

Helga stared at him blankly.

"Because we are building Houses, Salazar," she said. "Every normal House has a crest – so of course we are talking about crests. Rena and Godric said we should use animals as a part of the crest so I decided on a badger for Hufflepuff. Godric said you would take a serpent, he would take a lion and Rena said something about an eagle …"

"Er … all right," Sal said and finally left the rooms after telling some platitudes. Helga's rooms weren't as bad as Godric's but …

Sal entered his dungeon dorms and the first thing he did was to lighten the rooms by turning the outer wall with some rune-work invisible so that you could see in the lake. Then he used a muted green and some silver highlights for the common room.

He might not have been very happy with his House's name, but he suddenly was somehow glad that he had Slytherin as his House. At least the green gave off a homey feeling – and it did not kill you by just looking at it like Godric's red!

"So … my crest colours are green and silver," he concluded – not that he hadn't known it beforehand. "Note to myself: If I ever find out who dulled the red and gold in the Gryffindor tower later on I have to reward them!"

That night he used the knowledge he had gotten the day before and entered first Gryffindor tower and then Hufflepuff House. There he charmed one part of the dormitories and added a charm to make the others forget about the dorms he had hidden away. The charm he used definitely belonged to the Dark Arts – it was a charm he had learned from Morgana – but Sal didn't care. He was a dark wizard, whether he used the charm or not. After all, everything he had once learned from his father Myrddin had been banned as Dark Arts at least two hundred years ago.

Sal had simply stopped caring as long as the charms he used did not harm anyone …

After he had hidden away the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor dorms he entered Ravenclaw tower – answering riddles definitely made it easier to enter for him – and did the same. The hidden dorms were going to be the girl's dorms. Sal just had to work out all the charms he intended to add and then convince the others to add the girls as apprentices to their school – not that they called it a 'school' at the moment.

After that he returned to one of his bigger projects: The Chamber of Secrets. He built the chamber deep down under the school, building it big enough so that all the apprentices would fit in, in case of an emergency. He included a way out – which ended way behind the village of Hogsmeade that was still there from Arthur's time, in the mountains. He secured it with wards based on intent and a Parseltongue password. From inside it would simply open when you would lay your hand on the wall.

Then he connected the servant stairs with the chamber. The servant stairs were connected with the dorms of the other founders – even if they did not know that. He changed the entrances to open in case of an emergency and enchanted the servant stairs so that they would lead the apprentices automatically in the chamber.

"What are you working on?" Rowena finally asked him after seeing him vanishing every day for the last three weeks. The others also stared at him with interest in their eyes. Sal sighed, but then he gave in. After all – why shouldn't he show them his work? It was just a safety measure.

"No changing of my work," he warned them before he opened one of the servants' entrances and showed them the way down to the Chamber of Secrets.

"What's this?" Rowena asked astonished, staring at the chamber.

"A hide-out," Sal answered sincerely. "If the wards will ever be breached doors in the whole castle will open and lead the apprentices here. There is a tunnel to the mountains so that the apprentices are able to flee if we ever have to give up on the castle."

"And you did this by yourself?!" Rowena asked astonished. Sal just shrugged.

"I wasn't sure if you'd agree," he answered sincerely.

"Of course we would have!" Godric said, shaking his head. "None of us even thought about something like that!"

"Well, none of you have fought in a war," Sal answered seriously. "I have. I would think about something like that."

When he said that, Rowena looked at him oddly. Had she remembered her suspicion?

Sal stared back at her but shrugged it off when Helga spoke her mind.

"Still … wow, Sal," Helga said.

"Yes, wow," Godric said. "Building your own Chamber of Secrets under the school, I am impressed."

"You know of it – so it is hardly a Chamber of Secrets," Sal countered.

"Well, but it has been one," Godric said shrugging.

"Yes, but it isn't anymore."

"You should add some décor," Helga said in that moment.

"Yes … something like this!" said Rowena and suddenly a dozen of stone snakes lined the walls.

"Rowena! Do you want to frighten the apprentices?!" Sal hissed.

"No," Rowena said. "But you have to add them – you know, rather like your signature."

Sal just sighed and shook his head.

"I will add some dorms at the bottom of the snake bodies," he said. "Then they might be of use somehow. And now hush! Back where you came from!"

And with that they left again.

Sal indeed added the dorms. He also added a ritual room and some other rooms somewhere near the place where later would stand the huge sculpture of …_ him?!_

Well – Sal decided that he definitely would not add this statue to the room – the snakes were bad enough. Instead he added another, bigger snake to hide the ritual chamber, eventual library, and potion room and hospital wing with a connected bed chamber.

After that he was ready.

Harvest was ending and it finally was time to welcome home their apprentices for their first year at Haugh's Wards.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

_'Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	31. Chapter 30: Harry

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Thanks to __**Danneyland **__for beta-ing._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Harry**

sss

Hermione Granger was worried.

Normally, at this time of the year, she would be worried about classes, new professors, homework and learning. Normally, she would just do like she did every year to cope with her worry: she'd look into all the things she would have to learn and build her timetable from there so that she'd definitely have enough time for everything.

But this year, it was different.

Of course, she still was worried about classes, the new defence professor, homework and learning – but all that had taken a back seat to … well, to Harry.

Something was wrong with Harry, and Hermione Granger was worried sick over him.

When she had first met him, she hadn't seen it. It had taken her weeks to decipher that there was something different. Different – not wrong, just different.

It had been the small things that had added up to her worry.

Harry had suddenly forgotten that she hated brussel sprouts – he had never forgotten since she had told him in first year.

Harry had been calm more often but his letters earlier in the summer had been distinctly venomous.

Harry waited until Mrs. Weasley or Sirius were finished with speaking before asking questions – Hermione had never seen him wait before butting in a conversation with his own point of view.

And then the most distressing evidence: Harry had stopped demanding answers. Oh, he still insisted in knowing things – but he had stopped demanding. Instead he politely asked until he had worn his victim down and they would tell him just to be rid of him.

Yes, there was definitely something different with Harry – and Hermione was worried sick about it. Especially because she could not exactly place the answer to this frightening development.

Of course Hermione had a guess why Harry had changed – two or three guesses actually – but she could not really be sure that she was right with any of her guesses and that made her worried.

She hoped that it was just Harry maturing into adulthood, but she feared that it was more than that. She feared Harry had changed either because of the Dementor attack or because of Cedric's untimely death – and neither was a good reason for Harry to change.

If it was because of the Dementor attack, Harry could feel responsible for it and blame himself for the danger his cousin had been in. He could also be blaming Dumbledore and the Order for not protecting him as well as they should have – neither was a feeling Hermione would like Harry to harbor. Harry needed adults in his life that he felt he could trust. If this attack had destroyed his trust in Dumbledore and the Order, Hermione feared that Harry could lose his grip on reality and fall into the darkness.

If his changed behavior was because of Cedric, then Hermione was sure that Harry was blaming himself. That could lead to Harry trying to overcompensate in the next dangerous situation, bringing about his own death. Or it could lead to Harry getting utterly exhausted because of his lack of sleep and him pushing his education – especially in Defence. Hermione was sure that if that happened Harry would break down way before Hallowe'en.

Both reasons could be the cause of Harry's suddenly-mature demeanor – and neither was a reason Hermione felt was any good for Harry.

And because of that, instead of worrying about classes, new professors, homework and learning, Hermione was frantically watching Harry while worrying about him.

Harry instead seemed not to notice that he was watched at all. He continued his day like there was nothing going on.

He sat with them in the Great Hall – just like yesterday and all the years since first year – he went with them to class – he was not better than before. He still doodled in History of Magic, he still looked out of the window in Transfiguration more often than not. He still took his time to try a new spell in Charms like he always had. He still groaned about every bit of homework they were told to do and he still hated Divination with passion.

If it had just been like this, Hermione wouldn't have worried so much. Of course she had worried when he had forgotten minor things like her preferences – but it was one fact that made her worry even more: potion-stunted Harry Potter suddenly knew how to brew.

And the question was: how?!

When she had asked him he had told her he had memorized the potions book. So she had taken his book away and questioned him. Harry was right. He had memorized it – but there were things he could not explain with simply memorizing. Like the experienced way he cut his ingredients. Like the things he mentioned to add that weren't in the potions book.

Hermione had looked some of them up, sure that Harry had just made a mistake – just to find out that the effect of the things Harry mentioned to add aided the potion he had been describing …

The only explanation Hermione had was that Harry had been tutored over the summer.

"Ron?" she said after Harry had excused himself to the library to start on his Charms essay.

"Yes?"

"Don't you think … that Harry is behaving … different, somehow?" she asked, nervous.

Ron furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean 'different', Hermione?" he asked her.

"Well … he forgot that I don't like brussel sprouts … he speaks civilly with Malfoy … he knows potions … he –"

"Er … I think I get it," Ron said and then shrugged. "Yes. You're right. He is different – but that's nothing bad, is it? I mean … he's still the same somehow, isn't he?"

"I … guess," Hermione answered haltingly.

"Look," Ron said when he saw her hesitating. "Harry's still the same in class – except potions, that is – he still loses in chess against me and I'm sure he still would do anything for our friendship."

"You're right." This time Hermione sighed. "But I'm still uneasy about the changes. How do we know that these changes weren't started because of something that happened this summer? Like the Dementors, Cedric's death or V-Voldemort's return? How do we know that the difference in Harry didn't start because he isn't coping well with any of that and pushes himself to forget? I don't want to lose our friend because he can't cope with what happened!"

"He doesn't act as if he has problems," Ron countered.

"And you really think that we would see if he has problems right away?"

"Er … I guess we wouldn't, no."

"In second year he suddenly started to learn more after he was shunned by the whole school. Last year was the same. I don't know how often he practiced the Accio spell by himself just to get it right, but I do know that he didn't just practice it while I was with him. And then the Patronus charm in third year - he pushed himself to learn it after the Dementors affected him one time too often!"

"So you're thinking …"

"… That Harry's pushing himself now that Voldemort's back. Maybe he feels guilty because Cedric died. Maybe it was the Dementors … I don't know what it is, but I firmly believe that there is a reason why he suddenly studies so much – and I'm quite sure that this time he isn't telling us his reason … and that worries me, Ron."

"So … what should we do?"

Hermione hesitated when confronted with this question.

"Er … I don't know," she said. "Maybe … maybe we should talk to an adult … like McGonagall … or even Dumbledore …"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Don't be an idiot, Hermione. It's not near grave enough to run squealing to an adult."

"So what do you think we should do?"

"Maybe … give him time? After all, if it is Cedric it will take some time for him to get over it. I can't imagine how I would feel after I saw a friend being killed right in front of me …"

"But … wouldn't it be better if he had someone to talk to?"

Ron shook his head.

"Let's give him some time … if it doesn't change we can still go to an adult. But for now: Harry's our friend. We should try to get him to talk about what happened. And hey, maybe Harry just thought it was time for a change, you know?"

Hermione just sighed and buried her head in her hands.

"Fine," she murmured before she decided to follow Ron's advice and wait a little bit longer.

"But if it gets out of hand we_ will_ go to Dumbledore," she decided. Ron just shrugged and stood up to search for someone to play chess with.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Meanwhile, Harry Potter was taking a stroll on the grounds of Hogwarts. To tell the truth, Harry was not only traipsing but walking along the edge of the wards. He followed the ward line until he could not be seen from the castle anymore and then stopped.

There, at the edge of the wards, Harry took out his staff and un-shrunk it.

Of course, Harry was sure that he would have been able to use one of his wands to do what he wanted to do, but for him the staff was something else. While the wands were something akin to good and supporting tools, the staff was like an extension of his arm – and Harry trusted it the most.

So he un-shrunk his staff and then drew some runes and hieroglyphs with it in the soft ground along the ward-line.

Then he activated the runes.

One moment he could see nothing but the forest behind the wards, the next the wards were distinct and visible in front of him. The dome they built was surrounded by a colourful iridescent bubble, emblazed with Chinese characters, hieroglyphs, runes and Parsel runes. Then the glowing construct sunk in the wards themselves and illuminated them.

But instead of the colourful swirling and twirling of the bubble, the wards were a pale looking grey, mixed with some washed-out sparks of colour here and there. There were also some shoddy runes flying around and some parts of the wards were nearly transparent or blackened.

Harry frowned.

The wards should have shone with power and sparked with colour. Instead they looked nearly breached and sickly.

"Where are the soul wards?" Harry whispered. "Where are the Founders' wards?! They cannot have eroded!"

And they shouldn't have.

Soul wards like those on the castle were built for eternity and the blood wards the Founders had added were not far behind. That begged the question: where were they?

He found the answer when he started to look through the rest of the wards. The wards of the Founders were drained by other idiotically set wards. Whoever had built them had no idea how to build wards. So instead of building them on a runic or a blood base they had simply been added to the wards that had been here before – and that had drained the old wards that the new ones had been set on.

No ward could exist without a base. Normally the base was runes, blood or even the death of a person – the standard base for soul wards.

A ward that was built without a base would search for its replacement base. Normally the result would be a dead caster because he or she was the next suitable base to find. But Hogwarts had had powerful wards before, so instead of killing the caster the newly set wards had based themselves on the old blood wards and practically drained their power.

"I'll have to look into it and maybe destroy this ward," Harry murmured to himself. He just needed to know if destroying the ward would have negative consequences – like a backlash – or if it was safe to do so…

"And then I have to activate the soul wards again," this time he sighed. Harry wasn't sure why the soul wards had deactivated but he guessed that it had happened when the newer wards had been added. Soul wards were to an extent alive – especially those of Hogwarts – and they would deactivate before being leeched on.

Harry groaned.

"This looks like a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of work …"

But first, he decided, he had to find out about all the other wards that had been added over time – and especially about the wrong one set on top.

"Definitely a lot of work," he grumbled and let go of the runes, the wards vanishing from his sight. Of course he had been the only one who saw the wards – it wouldn't have been good if anyone had seen him looking at them after all. For all the others they had still been as invisible as they were for him again now …

"Library," he decided after he shrunk his staff and put it away. "The book about the wards should still be there – and if the charm has lasted, it should still have all the wards in it that have been added over time."

He entered the castle without meeting anyone and "returned" to the library … not that he had entered it until now. He had just told Hermione and Ron that he would be there some time ago. There he sat down and started on his homework as if he had never left in the first place.

No one had missed him – there was an advantage when he told his two 'best' friends that he would go to the library to study. Hermione would not disturb him because she was happy that he would take time to study and Ron would not come near him because he was studying. So no one had noticed when Harry Potter had gone missing for three hours before returning to the castle proper.

First, Harry took the time to write down a rough draft for his homework in potions – he didn't even look in his books to do it because he definitely didn't need any books to do superb work in potions. When he had finished writing his rough draft ten minutes later, he decided that it would be enough to convince everyone that he had been working hard in the library, and he then turned his attention to the things he really needed to have a look at.

"Well – now to the wards," Harry said to himself. He stood up and searched the library for the book he needed. Normally it was kept in the restricted section of the library – he simply entered as if there were no wards to keep anyone out – but to his dismay someone was borrowing it. He sighed. He knew that whoever was borrowing the book would not be able to read it, but he did not feel comfortable with the knowledge that someone else had it.

There was a reason why it was in the restricted section after all. Of course, there also was a reason why it had been in the library. It had to be easily accessible for the teachers and the Headmaster of the school, in any case, and if it was truly needed to change something about the wards, the book would no longer appear to be written in a foreign tongue for whoever needed it – but as long as Hogwarts did not feel like it was needed to add defences she normally hid the book away.

That someone had found it – and not after searching for aid about the school wards but simply by looking – was troubling because it showed Harry how far the wrongly placed wards were affecting the school.

"Definitely not good," Harry concluded. "I have to do something about the wards, and soon."

There was just one problem: Harry guessed that a soul-piece of Riddle was hidden under the wards – within the school itself to be exactly.

"I'm not sure if I should even dare to change something about this catastrophe of wards while the Horcrux still is within its parameters," Harry thought darkly. If the wards just needed strengthening it could have been done – but to bring down wards while something foul like a Horcrux was near it …

"Maybe we should start with finding the soul piece." Harry frowned. "If I just knew what wards we're dealing with here …"

But he didn't. At least, he couldn't be completely sure until he found that book …

This conclusion left him with only one option: "I'll have to search for it everywhere in school," he said to himself. Meanwhile he would have to continue with his other plans and pray that he found the book as soon as possible …

"I'll also have to open the wards for Reg," he thought to himself. But he needed the book about wards first to do so. He had an incredibly good memory, but he'd still like to check some facts before he played with the wards of Hogwarts. Who knew what wards the Headmasters had added over time? Harry was sure he could find out without the book, but he also knew that it would be a lot easier with it.

And there was also another matter to consider. Harry had gotten an answer to the letter he had written to his _'old friend'_.

It read:

_"My dear old Friend,_

_I know you don't want to give up revenge. And I understand that he has hurt you even more with his actions than he ever has me. I will not stop you. I just ask you to be careful. There are people who would never forgive you if you put yourself in danger._

_If you need my aid, tell me. I might be dying – but I have one last act to play in this game. Just tell me when and I will be there._

_Your old Friend._

_Me."_

Harry read it once, and then he snorted. One last act to play! So Harry's _Oncle_ had decided to aid Harry in his revenge even if he thought Harry shouldn't do it. Well, Harry could live with that. He was just glad that his _Oncle_ didn't try to stop him anymore. If the old man wanted to shock the old goat before he died …

Harry could not even contradict his _Oncle_ if he planned to do it. The old man had all the right within the world to deal the final blow to the old goat…

Well, Harry would not stop him.

He wrote down his answer and then wrote another letter on a different piece of parchment. After that he had waited until Winky had popped in and taken the letters, and then returned to what he had been doing before.

"So back to the search for my book," he thought. "Well – there aren't a lot of people in the castle that would be interested in it. It's in runes after all … The best way to find it would be to lay out bait and let them come to me." And Harry knew how to do that just fine …

Harry returned to the Gryffindor tower just half an hour later. In the last half-hour he had written down another rough draft – this one for his Charms essay – and then put away his books before he had left the library.

That evening he played chess with Ron and lost spectacularly – Harry wasn't sure if it was because he kept getting distracted by his thoughts or if it was because he always had been abysmal in chess.

It was startling. He could lead armies to victory against a foe three times as big but if he was given a chess set he was lost…

"Well, at least no one has to wonder why I can suddenly play chess," Harry thought snorting after he had been beaten the third time in a row. "I couldn't even play chess if my life depended on it …"

At ten o'clock he finally gave up and vanished up the stairs into the boys dorms. There he lay down to sleep for a while at least …

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as 'Lord Voldemort' by civilians or 'the Dark Lord' by his supporters, was not happy.

Something had changed.

Something very important had changed.

But he couldn't put his finger on the problem.

Earlier that summer, Lucius Malfoy had been like he had remembered him: firmly behind Voldemort's ideals and used to getting his way with everyone but his master. Well, at least as behind Voldemort's political point of view as Lucius Malfoy would ever be.

Voldemort, after all, was not a fool. He knew that the man had twisted the truth after Voldemort had lost his body to a fifteen month old child. The man had lied, bribed and had put pressure on all he couldn't deceive – and all that to stay out of prison and to keep his name clean of the stain of being a Death Eater. Of course, Lucius Malfoy had always been a man without backbone so Voldemort had not been surprised that the man had not started to search for him after he vanished … or that the man had renounced him.

When Voldemort had returned at the beginning of last summer, Lucius Malfoy had also returned. The man had still been the same: he had bribed the minister and other people, he had lied and he had pressured those who did not see it his way.

And Voldemort had taken him back because even if the man wasn't truly loyal to him, he was definitely loyal enough to the cause – at least until he thought that he was on the losing side. But if it really came to that one day, Voldemort would find a way to overcome it …

Or so he had thought …

But now something had changed.

The money Lucius had always thrown out as if there was no end to it had stopped leaving the vault of the man. The blonde was still working closely with the minister – but he had stopped using his name to get what he wanted to have.

And then there was the Wizengamot …

The Wizengamot had met a day ago and instead of voting for the harder creature laws instantly, Lucius Malfoy had asked for time to look them over – looking over laws before passing them was nothing new for a member of the Wizengamot … but Lucius Malfoy looking over a law he would have passed with glee just a few weeks ago…?!

Something was definitely wrong with Lucius Malfoy …

In that moment Lucius Malfoy entered the room, in his hands a long letter.

Lucius stopped when he saw the snake-faced man and bowed to him.

"My Lord," he said.

"Lucius," Voldemort answered, scrutinizing the man. "What are you doing?"

"I have to send a letter, my Lord," the noble man answered.

"A letter?"

"A Wizengamot matter. I need consult an … acquaintance of mine for the new law."

Voldemort raised a non-existent eyebrow.

"And why does the Lord Malfoy have to consult someone for a law he would have passed without a thought just a mere two weeks ago?" he asked the noble man.

If Voldemort had not watched Lucius closely he wouldn't have noticed the man wincing when Voldemort called him 'Lord Malfoy'.

Voldemort inwardly frowned.

Why would Lucius wince when being called what he had been known as for years?!

What had changed?!

"My Lord," Lord Voldemort looked up again to look at Lucius. The man gulped but spoke on. "May I be excused?"

Voldemort again scrutinized the man.

"Of courssse," he finally said, preening inwardly when Lucius winced again after hearing the slight note of Parseltongue in Voldemort's voice.

Yes. Something was different with Lucius. In a lot of things the man was still the same – but in some things…

Voldemort had to watch him closely…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Mad Eye Moody was stalking the school. He had been following Potter for the last few weeks – not constantly, but every time he had found time to do so.

And some things had been … odd …

Like the lad talking to Sirius Black and calling him a 'stupid Gryffindor' or his behavior towards the Malfoy heir and Snape …

Something strange was going on.

"Alastor," Mad Eye stopped mid-step when he heard the voice of Albus Dumbledore.

"Albus," he greeted.

"Alastor, how are you, my friend?"

"I'm fine," Mad Eye answered, inwardly rolling his eyes. He was no man for idle chit chat.

The Headmaster just smiled, and invited Mad Eye to join him in his office.

The conversation started just after the office door was closed and they were sure to take caution against being overheard.

"Have you been following Harry, Alastor?" Albus finally asked.

Mad Eye Moody just grunted.

"I have," he said. "But I never knew the lad before this summer. I'm definitely not someone who's able to judge if he is different than before."

"I know, my friend," Mad Eye always suspected that he was called 'my friend' because Albus constantly slipped and had to change his beloved 'my boy' to something less insulting …

"But I also know that you were a superb Auror. You would notice if something is truly wrong with Harry. Possession, for example."

"I did not see any sign of possession, Albus," Mad Eye answered sincerely. But then he stopped. He wasn't sure what to tell Albus.

The Headmaster had been right. The boy somehow was different then all the other teens he had met until now …

"But …" Albus prodded.

"But … there is something … strange … about the boy," Mad Eye finally answered, hesitating.

Albus frowned.

"Strange?" he repeated. "Could you elaborate, my friend?"

_Yep … definitely a changed version of 'my boy' …_

"I'm not exactly sure about what I saw," Alastor said sighing. "It's just that he isn't interacting with others like I thought he would after I heard your description of him, Albus."

"I don't think I understand …"

Mad Eye sighed again.

"You described a typical Gryffindor: rash, impulsive, reckless and rude. The boy I met isn't like that," he answered while rubbing his forehead.

Albus frowned.

"What do you mean, he isn't like that?"

Mad Eye snorted.

"The boy you described to me is a typical teenage boy – well, a typical Gryffindor teenage boy. The boy … no, the man I met is a responsible adult … maybe even a Slytherin adult."

"So Voldemort is taking over."

"There are no signs of possession, Albus!" Mad Eye replied heatedly. "If there were I wouldn't be as worried as I am. There is something different about that boy – something that you should have seen but didn't until now. So the question is if it always has been like that and you just never saw this oddity in the boy, or if something happened over the summer to change the boy to what he is now!"

"Harry wouldn't change like that. I know the boy. He has always been a sweet, caring …"

"Albus!" Mad Eye interrupted. "The boy still cares about others! That isn't the problem! The problem is that –"

"So if we do something now we are still able to stop Voldemort's influence," Albus concluded.

"Albus! I told you he isn't poss–"

"I will talk to his friends. They will know how far he is gone. Maybe there is still time to help the poor child …" Albus said sighing without even listening to Mad Eye.

Mad Eye fumed. He knew Albus could be a stubborn old fool, but…

"He. Is. Not. Possessed. Albus!"

"I will take care of the problem. Thank you, Alastor," Albus said.

Mad Eye just stared at the old man in front of him. Then he turned and left. Albus might believe he had found the problem, but Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody knew he hadn't. And Mad Eye would not leave this be until he found an answer he was satisfied with!

"An imposter, maybe …" he murmured when left Albus' office.

_That was a thought worth looking into…_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was the middle of the night when Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, woke.

He had dreamed again.

The corridor of the Department of Mysteries.

The prophecy.

And the urge to get it.

The urge was getting stronger. Something was pushing him to go after the prophecy. Something was filling him with dread and the fear that someone else would remove the prophecy if he waited too long.

If Voldemort hadn't known better, he would have guessed that someone was aiding the fear in his dreams; that someone was trying to manipulate him.

But Voldemort was an exceptionally good Occlumens and there was no way that someone had penetrated his shields …

Still … after Voldemort had calmed down his breathing he slipped into his mind and searched it for intruders.

Nothing.

His mind was still his own. It was just like it had always been …

"Just a dream," he said to himself. "Just a dream."

But he would change his plans, just in case …

"Maybe I should break my loyal ones out of Azkaban a little faster than originally planned…" he thought. "Just in case someone entered my mind and knows of my plans…"

And he would strengthen his Occlumency shields. He had to feel safe in his own mind, after all…

And with those thoughts he left his mind, blind to the softly glowing rune in the shadows of his subconscious, a rune that was definitely not part of his mind. A rune that just a true rune master maybe would have been able to see and to understand, but most likely even a rune master would have reached his limits with a rune like that.

A rune, bonded to a fully working, complex rune circle.

A rune that Voldemort had had in his mind since the Potters had escaped his clutches for the first time.

Voldemort never noticed.

But that was not a surprise at all. Voldemort was much – but he never had learned enough runes to call himself a master.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was dark outside and even the most daring students had returned to their beds at this late hour – it was three in the morning and even the teachers had given up patrolling the corridors.

Harry didn't care about sleeping. He had woken just a few minutes ago from the trance he had slipped into after going to bed and had left the dorms not a minute later. He had some things to do tonight – and he would not hesitate to do them.

Harry did not have his invisibility cloak with him, and the Marauder's Map was also staying in his trunk. He did not need either to do what he was about to do.

When Harry left Gryffindor tower, he turned left until he reached a wall just a few meters away. There a tiny snake engraving could be seen – something the normal student or teacher would simply overlook as there were many strange things in the castle, and a snake engraving was definitely nothing foreign.

Harry smiled at the snake, and then hissed: "_In the name of Salazar Slytherin, open!"_

Nothing changed but Harry simply reached out with his hand. His hand slid through the wall as if it was not there at all. Harry smiled and stepped through.

The corridor behind it was narrow and dirty. It was imbedded in the walls and might once have been a corridor for the servants. Now it was a secret passage to another part of the castle.

Harry followed the corridor. Sometimes he had to take turns, sometimes other corridors crossed his path but finally, after slipping down multiple flights of stairs he reached another wall. There he simply laid his hand on the wall before him and pushed. The wall opened instantly, revealing a huge chamber, lined with stone serpents.

_The Chamber of Secrets._

Harry scrutinized the Chamber. The corpse of the Basilisk was still rotting on the floor. "I'll have to do something about this," Harry thought, deciding to cast a preservation charm on it before turning to the other side of the hall.

There he opened another secret passage at the foot of one of the snakes (***), and stepped through into another tunnel. He followed the tunnel and finally ended up in a cave near Hogsmeade. The cave itself was secured with a silver door. Harry opened the door and waited as a black cat slunk into the cave swiftly. Then he turned and returned to the Chamber of Secrets. The cat followed him silently.

When they finally arrived in the Chamber, Harry closed the door to the secret passage again and turned to the cat.

"You'll have to aid me, Reg," Harry said and the black cat in front of him turned into a human – Regulus Black, Sirius Black's little brother.

"I have been aiding you for years, Sal," he said.

"Harry," Harry corrected.

Regulus inclined his head. "Harry."

One moment, there was silence between them, but then Regulus spoke again.

"So, what are you planning, Harry?"

"I need to look at the wards again after I find the book detailing them, and I need you to find what we are looking for," Harry answered. Regulus raised an eyebrow.

"Do you plan on changing the wards?" he asked.

"I do," Harry answered the positive. "But there are things to do first."

Reg frowned.

"I thought it would aid us if you worked on the wards …" he said.

Harry shrugged. "I won't risk it without knowing what they are," he answered. "And I'm not sure if I would risk it if I knew. I looked at the wards, and I'm not sure if I truly want a soul piece of a Dark Lord in the school when I work with them. I fear the soul might be able to interfere if I did."

Reg frowned again.

"So how do you plan on finding the soul piece?"

"By searching," Harry answered. "We will start in the Chamber tonight."

"Why?"

"Because Riddle is a _descendant_ of Salazar Slytherin," Harry answered. "And he was able to access the main chamber."

"Oh," Reg said. "How do we access the Chamber?"

"We are already in the Chamber," Harry answered laughing. "We do not need to access it."

Reg's eyes widened comically.

"But … how?!"

Harry grinned and shrugged.

"I am a Malfoire. I always find a way," he answered grinning. "And now let's start searching."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	32. Chapter 31: A Cat, A Toad

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Thanks to __**Danneyland **__for beta-ing._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**A Cat, A Toad And Almighty Albus**

sss

They found nothing in the Chamber that night. The next few nights they continued their search in the dungeons.

They searched the entire night.

At first Harry was able to cover his lack of sleep; he had gone without sleep for days before. But at the beginning of the week after, his lack of sleep started to show.

That Friday night, Harry had finally decided that they wouldn't find out where the Horcrux was hidden by simply searching the castle. Oh, he was reasonably sure that they would find the Horcrux eventually – but he also was reasonably sure that it would take decades to be even close to finding it without aid.

They needed something else to aid them in their search.

So instead of searching, Harry sat down that night and started to develop a ward to aid them with their task.

Developing a ward was a hideous, complicated and nerve-wracking task. His ward needed to be tuned to the wards that had been previously placed around the castle for protection – but Harry did not know all of the wards that were in place. So developing a ward was nearly impossible and absolutely frustrating.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, and before Harry could stop her she had taken his parchment to look it over.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken it out in the Gryffindor common room to work on it, but Harry was so tired that he had not even thought about where he was before he started to work again on his problem.

_Oh, he was so tired! He needed to sleep but he couldn't – not until he finally had a clue about the whereabouts of the Horcrux!_

So instead of thinking of a possible explanation to why his parchment was filled with odd equations and symbols he just stared dumbly at Hermione while she looked over his work.

"Harry! What are you doing?" she asked him. Her voice trembled and she looked at him oddly.

"Huh?" he definitely_ needed _sleep.

"This!" she waved with his work in front of his nose. "What is this? I'm sure that this is definitely nothing for school, so _what _are you doing?!"

"Er …" he stuttered while trying to find a suitable explanation.

_Oh, he was so tired!_

"No … not school related," he finally said, slurring slightly. "Just something I decided to try out after reading about it in the library."

"Harry! This looks like Arithmancy to me! Why would you look at an Arithmancy book in the library?"

"Er … it was lying around and it looked interesting," Harry replied, waving her question away with his hand. "It's definitely more complicated than it looks like."

"Of course it is!" Hermione said snorting. "There is a reason why Arithmancy is a class! And whatever book you found definitely wasn't a beginner's book! There are too many variables to even try to get a conclusion! And what are these symbols? Did you make them up?"

Harry looked again at his parchment in her hands to the place where her index finger pointed.

She was pointing at the Parseltongue runes he had used for his ward – or at least the Parseltongue runes he had been able to calculate where to put. He had still some runes in his head he was sure he needed for the ward to work, but was unable to place them because he did not have enough data to do so.

He definitely needed the self-updating book on the school wards!

"Harry?" Hermione said in that moment, looking at him concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Er … yeah … just tired, you know?" Harry answered while he tried to shake away his exhaustion.

"So … what are these?" she pointed again at the Parseltongue runes.

"Runes," he said sincerely, too tired to make something up.

Hermione snorted.

"Those aren't runes, Harry," she said and then shook her head. "You know what? If you really want to learn runes and arithmancy, just ask me! We're friends! If you're interested in something like that, say so and I will teach you! Just don't try to do it on your own! Arithmancy can be dangerous for those who don't know what they're doing. Think about it! You could create a new curse with arithmancy and no one could help you because no one would know how to treat that curse you created by doing something half-assed!"

Harry just stared blankly at the lecturing girl in front of him.

Then Hermione turned to the fire.

"Let's throw away that try and start at the beginning," she suggested and her hand extended to the flames, parchment in it.

"No!" this definitely had woken Harry up again.

He leaped out of his seat and snatched the parchment from her grip before she could feed it to the flickering flames.

She stared at him with huge eyes, definitely not sure what to make of his reaction.

Harry pressed the parchment to his chest. Then his actions caught up to him and he blushed.

He, of course, knew that she had wanted to destroy more than forty eight hours' worth of hard work – but Hermione didn't know that. For her, the majority of it was unsolveable equations and some scribbles. She had no idea that the thing she had in her hand was an unfinished ward – and it would at least take another year of studying for her to recognize the importance of his parchment – and at least another ten years until she understood the rudimentary principles of what he was trying to do.

There was, after all, a reason why there weren't a lot of warders in the wizarding world.

"Er … I don't want you destroy it. Even if it is rubbish – it was my first try," he explained to Hermione with red cheeks.

She frowned.

"Harry," she finally said slowly. "Whatever you did – it could be dangerous! Arithmancy is not just equations and calculations. It's magic! And Professor Vector said it could end horribly if done wrong!"

"Er … if I promise not to work on it anymore, would it be alright to keep it?" Harry asked sighing.

Hermione hesitated. Then she also sighed.

"Alright - keep this rubbish. But at least let me explain how it's normally done!" And with that, she hurried off to her dorm to find her third year Arithmancy text book.

Harry sighed silently.

He was sure that Hermione would lecture him for a few hours until she was satisfied.

"It seems like I'll have to take a break after all," he mused.

If he just could use that break to sleep, not waste precious time listening to Hermione's pointless jabbering!

At that moment, Hermione returned with her book and Harry resigned himself to 'learn' what he already knew …

"The next time I see her doing something wrong I'll do the same to her," he thought grudgingly. Maybe then she'd finally understand how others felt when she started to lecture them: like an idiot.

Not that Harry actually felt like an idiot. He simply felt as if Hermione thought him an idiot – after all, when he truly started to be 'suddenly' interested in Arithmancy, why did she assume that he didn't start at the beginning! Even a dunderhead _should_ know that you had to crawl before you could walk!

But – that was Hermione. She was simply blind to how she treated the other students around her the most of the time.

So when she returned, Harry set aside his work and concentrated on her improper lesson.

_He would get her for this. Even if he died trying!_

And maybe, if he hadn't been so tired, he would have seen someone copying his work and stowing the copy away. Then the unequal, suspicious eyes returned to the lecture Harry was being given, assessing the boy who was listening to his female friend closely.

There was definitely something strange going on with Harry Potter …

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Bill Weasley was finally having his lunch break. The day had been strenuous. They had broken down the wards of a dozen vaults, and had then started to ward those vaults again. This was a security measure of Gringotts': every six or seven months the wards on the vaults were changed. Sometimes they just added to the existing wards, sometimes the goblins moved the contents of the vault to a temporary vault and broke down all the wards, just to ward the vaults again with a different sort of warding.

At least these constant changes made it extremely difficult for a thief to get into the vaults.

But it was strenuous to break down wards – especially the strong wards of the goblin enchanters.

Well, Bill had chosen his job, so he definitely couldn't complain.

"You've got lunch break, lad?" a voice suddenly asked and Bill turned from his meagre meal in the Leaky Cauldron to look at the man who spoke to him.

"Moody," he greeted. "What brings you here?"

Bill knew that the paranoid ex-Auror definitely wouldn't have started at conversation with him if he didn't need anything or didn't want to tell Bill anything.

"I have something you should take a look at," Moody said. "I want to know what you think of it."

Bill frowned but gestured for Moody to show him.

The ex-Auror took out a rumpled looking parchment and laid it down on the table.

"Tell me what you see," the paranoid man demanded. "I know that those calculations aren't random, but I never took Arithmancy beyond fifth year."

Bill turned the paper to look it over.

At first the scribbles on one side of the paper looked like doodling, but when Bill assessed the calculations on the parchment he soon suspected them to be something more.

"That's a ward," he finally said, a bit surprised by his answer. He hadn't been sure what he was looking at until he had said it aloud.

"A ward?" Moody repeated, looking it over again.

Bill nodded and pointed to the scribbles.

"These are runes. I don't know the alphabet but I know that they have to be runes. The calculations are their placement in the unfinished ward."

"What will the ward do if it is applied somewhere?" Moody looked at the parchment with an odd look in his eyes.

Bill frowned and looked again at the calculations. He couldn't read the runes so he was unable to determine what they stood for – to guess the use of an unfinished wards with just the calculations and without runes he could understand was difficult.

"I'm not quite sure," he finally answered. "I can't read the runes so it's hard to guess what the ward is for."

"So … the ward could be used to harm someone?" Moody definitely sounded troubled when he asked that.

Bill blinked and looked again at the calculations.

"No," he said earnestly. "There is no way that this ward could be harmful."

"I thought that you couldn't determine the purpose of this ward," Moody instigated clarification.

"I can't," Bill answered, shrugging. "I would need the knowledge of the language used and the runes' meaning to be sure what the ward will do. But the calculations give me an educated guess about what it might be used for."

"How can some equations give you a guess like that?"

"Simple. There are some equations written down here that calculate the placement of shield-runes. I don't know which shield-runes are calculated, but I do know that shield-runes are calculated – and shield-runes can't be used for dark purposes."

"So … no harming, maiming or killing?" Moody asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. No harming, maiming or killing," Bill answered. "If I had to guess I would think that the ward is a detector of some kind. The ward's not ready so it's a wild guess but the beginnings of a kind of harm, torture or dark detector can be read out of this calculation …" Bill pointed at one of the calculations with a lot of variables.

"Whoever wrote and calculated the ward will still need a lot of data until he can even think about applying the ward somewhere."

Moody looked down at the parchment.

"If I told you the writer of this parchment is at Hogwarts – would that change your interpretation of the wards?" he finally asked Bill. Bill just shook his head.

"Wherever the ward is applied – it cannot be used for anything but either shielding people from forms of darkness or detecting darkness. There is nothing else you can do with these calculations – even if you added another dozen to the ones you have here."

"So it's a simple shield or detection ward?" Moody asked. As an Auror he had sometimes seen simple wards in both categories, but he had never thought that it would take so much calculation to set them up.

"No," Bill answered sincerely. "The ward might be a shield or detection ward – but it's definitely not simple. This –" Bill tapped the parchment with his index finger to empathize his words. "… Is one of the most complex wards I have seen until today. It's easily on a par with the goblin wards for their clan-leader's vaults. It's very specialized, and this specialization is what makes it so complicated."

"Specialized? In what way?"

Bill shrugged.

"I couldn't say," he answered. "I would have to be able to read the runes to tell you."

"Is there anything else you can tell?"

Bill shrugged.

"Not much. Whoever wrote the ward knows exactly what he or she is doing. The calculations are precise and to the point – most beginners have a lot of runes in their runic circles or rune chains that aren't needed. That won't change without time and practice. These rune chains –" Bill pointed at the foreign runes. "… Are precise and to the point. Whoever did the Arithmancy has definitely done some other wards before. And I am not talking about simple wards but wards like Gringotts, the Ministry or perhaps even Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?"

Bill shrugged.

"I never returned to Hogwarts after I graduated and finished my apprenticeship in curse-breaking, so I've never seen the wards of Hogwarts as a trained curse-breaker. Because of that I can't tell," he answered sincerely. "But they have to be on a par with the Ministry at least. There's a reason, after all, why Hogwarts is known as the most secure place in the British Wizarding World."

Moody nodded and took back the parchment.

_Shield wards or detection wards …_

"What is the imposter playing at?" Moody wondered silently.

It was definitely not what he had thought before …

"Thank you," he said to Bill and left.

Moody would wonder the rest of the day about Harry Potter – or, rather, the person that was pretending to be the boy.

xXXxXXxXXxXXxXXxXXxXXX

Arthur Weasley stared at the letter he'd received this morning. He had been reading it all day, not really sure what to do with it.

"I'm home," resounded the voice of his eldest son.

Bill was working on a project in Britain and had returned to the Burrow for the time being. And he wasn't the only one. Charlie had also returned – he was on vacation for a month, taking the time to see his family again.

"Anybody home?"

"I'm in the kitchen," Arthur answered, still fiddling with the letter.

What should he do?

"Hey, Dad!" Bill greeted while entering the kitchen.

"Hello, Bill," Arthur answered absentmindedly.

"Dad? You okay?" Bill stopped when his father did not greet him like he did normally.

"Huh? Yes, yes … everything's fine," Arthur answered, still staring at the letter.

"You don't sound like everything's fine," Bill said warily.

As an answer, Arthur sighed.

"I got a letter today," he finally answered. "I'm not sure how to respond to it …"

"Can you show me?"

If it was something from his work, there might be a restriction on it and people who did not work in the Ministry or even on this particular case might not be allowed to see it or even know about it.

Arthur tossed his son the letter.

"It's also addressed to you and Charlie," he said. "So of course you can look at it."

Bill took the letter and looked at it.

sSs

_To the Head of the House Weasley, his Heir and his second-born son,_

_Children of the House of Weasley, you have lived in honor of your ancestors. You have lived bravely; you have lived true to your ideals. You have followed the way of your ancestors. I declare you children of a beloved daughter of my House. As such I will cherish you and aid you in your time of need. You are granted entrance in my family._

_Children of the extinguished House of Prewett, your members have proven to have the courage to live their lives slyly and they have proven to have the courage to stand by their allies. I declare you children of a beloved minor son of my House. As such I will redeem your claim and return you to your rightful place. You are subjects to my House and I will take you in as mine._

_I invite you back in my family._

_Answer my call, descendants of my House, and return to your rightful place._

_Hold on, I will take you home this Saturday at midnight._

_I swear on my soul and magic you will be safe until you return._

_The Head of the Family_

sSs

"A summoning?" Bill asked, astonished.

He had heard about summonings before. Normally something like that just occurred in major Houses. The Weasleys had no power, and as such, were not very interesting allies.

But the letter wasn't about allies. It was about family.

So it definitely couldn't be a simple summoning. Bill knew just one occasion that would grant the Weasley family a summoning.

"A Grand Family?!" Bill said, still staring at the letter. "Mum is the descendant of a minor son of a Grand Family?!"

A Grand Family was a family with branch families. There was just one occasion when something like that happened: a younger son had to marry the female heir of another family. The younger son would give up his name, but his alliance would still be with his family. As such, a branch family is created and allied with the Grand Family and protected by it. An alliance with that couldn't be broken and it would exist until the branch family renounced their Grand Family or until the connection was forgotten. Long ago, there had been numerous Grand Families but the connections had been forgotten or renounced by so many, that now there weren't many Grand Families left.

Bill knew of just a few.

Fudge's family was one of them, the other one Dumbledore's. There was also a rumour about the Ollivander Family and their connection to the Lovegoods, but the rumour had never been proven or renounced by either of the families.

Nevertheless, Grand Families, while practical for the allied families, were seldom. Bill had heard about them because he was a part of Gringotts, and the alliance between Grand and branch family was not just political but also financial, but Bill had never thought that his own family could belong to a Grand Family.

And belonging to one was definitely a favor for lesser or minor Houses. The Grand Family granted their subjects a small allowance and also aided them politically and in private. Even the most prominent and politically powerful Houses would not turn down and invitation like that lightly …

"What should I do, Bill?" Arthur asked his eldest.

"We should go," Bill answered instantly. "We don't know the House that summoned us – and we won't be able to know until it is announced in the Wizengamot – but we can't turn down an invitation like that. Just the option of belonging to a Grand Family could aid us …"

"I don't think Albus will like that," Arthur sighed.

This time Bill pressed his lips together.

He respected the Headmaster. He really did. But … sometimes Bill resented the old man. Of course, the Headmaster was wise and had seen a lot, but Bill could not forget that even if the Headmaster had lived longer than them, he was still human. Bill had heard of a two hundred year old goblin being fired for disrespect after working on the accounts for over a hundred years. If goblins that old were able to make mistakes like that, then the Headmaster wasn't any better.

And this was a family matter.

Oh, Bill was sure that Albus Dumbledore would advise his father if he asked. Albus Dumbledore would tell them not to take the chance, after all the family was unknown and would stay unknown until it announced itself before the Wizengamot. Until then, the Weasleys could just decide to join or to renounce the family because of the persons that would belong to the Grand Family.

Albus Dumbledore would never let the Head of the Weasley family take this risk. But Bill knew that the risk still could be worth it.

"And I don't think you should tell him, Dad," Bill said finally, challenging his father to not follow the lead of the Leader of the Light this time. "This is a family matter. He does not need to know about this potential ally of ours. He has no right to even know."

Bill knew he sounded a little bit anti-Dumbledore, but he hated how the meddling old man was trying to spur his family to his liking. And this time, he finally could voice his resentment without sounding as if he hated the man – because he definitely didn't. He respected him. He just couldn't stand his meddling ways!

Silence was the answer.

For a moment, Bill was nervous how his father would react, but when his father looked up Bill was glad that he'd decided to tell him straight to his face that Dumbledore had no right to meddle in their affairs.

"You're right," Arthur said finally after another minute of silence. "This is a family matter. Call your brother and tell him to be ready. We'll head out on Saturday."

Bill smiled and left the room to do as he was told.

He was really interested what family had decided to invite them in – and even if he wasn't allowed to know the name of the family until it announced it in front of the Wizengamot, they were still allowed to get to know the Head of the House.

Maybe, just maybe, Bill would be able to recognize him…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The day after his improper lesson in Arithmancy, Harry was tired and lacking concentration in class. He had stayed up late after his 'lesson' to continue his work on the wards. That he had found out that someone had copied his parchment sometime yesterday evening did not lighten his mood at all.

Harry had a spell on his parchments to show if it had been copied – and the parchment with his warding on it had definitely shown the signs. Harry just couldn't tell who had done it.

"At least it wasn't ready," he thought to himself. "The warding scheme will still change enough that the copy won't be of any use to whoever has it …"

Still, it was worrisome.

So instead of sleeping he had worked further on the wards before hiding his parchment. This time it had better not be copied again! He had enough on his plate without adding further workload to his shoulders by inventing a complicated safety net to his ward scheme!

But he added at least a simple one that night, before he finally fell into bed at four fifty in the morning.

When he woke up he was still tired, but he got up like always and headed down to breakfast after doing some morning workouts. Of course, the original Harry never had been in the habit of doing anything like that, but Harry could not live without it. He had long ago started practicing his fencing before eating breakfast.

So he left the tower, practiced in an unused classroom, returned, showered and woke Ron like always. They ate breakfast together with Hermione, and after that headed to Transfiguration.

It was there the near-disaster happened.

He was sleep-deprived and definitely couldn't think all too clearly that morning so instead of 'struggling' with the new spell like always he simply did it – wordlessly.

For a second he stared featherbrained at the completed spell – a full tea set with a checkered pattern – before his mind caught on and he hurriedly reversed the spell back to the raven it was before.

"Harry! Did you just manage the spell immediately?" Hermione said, looking at his raven with huge eyes.

Harry wanted to groan.

"What?" he asked instead and shook his head. "I haven't even tried the spell yet …"

A pathetic lie – but he was definitely unable to make up another one.

Hermione stared at him, calculating.

"Are you sure that your raven wasn't a tea set a moment ago?" she asked him.

"No, I'm sure that it was a tea set a moment ago," Harry answered her sincerely. "I merely told you that I didn't cast the spell."

Hermione raised her eyebrow.

"But I saw you swishing your wand!" she said.

"I did," Harry answered. "I wanted to practice the movement again before I tried. But I swear to you, I never said the spell!"

Which was true, after all …

"So how …?"

"I don't know. I'm too tired to think about an explanation," Harry answered tiredly. "Think up one for yourself – you're the wise one in our group after all!"

Hermione snorted, but her eyes suddenly looked concerned.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione finally asked him hesitatingly.

"Er … Yes, I am," Harry answered.

"You don't look like it. To tell the truth, ever since a few days ago you look like death walked all over you," Hermione answered. "And you don't act like you're alright. I've watched you since the beginning of the school year. Harry – something is amiss with you!"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry answered. "I'm just tired."

"Of course you are," Ron snorted. "You've left the tower every night since Wednesday, and you come back just before the others wake up. Where do you go at night? What are you doing?"

Harry looked at his friend. He had not thought that his friend was so observant.

"I … nothing," he finally answered tiredly. He was not up to lying at the moment.

Ron just snorted.

"We're your best friends, Harry! Please, tell us – what in Merlin's name is bothering you?" Hermione said.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You are not."

"Please …" In that moment Professor McGonagall came by and they stopped talking. But that didn't mean his friends let it go. Instead they just waited until after class to pester him again.

"Harry! We're your friends, so please, tell us what's wrong!" Hermione said.

"Nothing," Harry repeated.

"It's definitely _not_ nothing!"

"If you think so," Harry finally answered and stood up. "I'm going to bed. I need to get some sleep or I'll fall asleep in detention today."

And with that he left the room.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Hermione stood nervously in front of the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. Next to her stood Ron. Both were looking at the gargoyle.

"Do you really think we should …?" Ron asked, hesitating.

"We have to," Hermione answered, straitening her back. "There's no other option. We don't know if something is wrong – Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards alive. I'm sure he'd know if something is wrong."

"But … what if …"

"We have to, Ron – or do you _really_ want a repeat of our second year?" She was talking about Ginny and the possession she had suffered that time.

Ron shook his head frantically.

"Alright, let's go," Hermione said and raised her hand to knock. Before she could even touch the gargoyle, it opened the way for them. Again Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, and then they stepped on the stairs, which were gliding up to the Headmaster's office much like a circular escalator.

There, Hermione knocked on the door.

"Come in, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley," the Headmaster said and the troubled teenagers entered. "How may I help you today?"

"Uh …" Hermione looked at Ron. Ron looked at Hermione.

"It's … it's Harry," Hermione finally said. "He's behaving oddly."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Oddly, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "He's not behaving like he was last year."

"Explain, please, Miss Granger."

"Well … he suddenly knows things he never knew before – like potions. He should've had no way to learn to brew as perfectly as he suddenly does while at his aunt's, yet he suddenly knows more about potions than even I do," Hermione explained. "He's also stopped telling us things. Sometimes he vanishes for hours and when he returns, he never tells us where he went …"

"Yeah," Ron said. "And he also started reading! And he's talking to the Slytherins! The Slytherins, Professor! That's not Harry! Harry would never talk to Slytherins like that!"

Hermione snorted.

"Maybe he's just grown up, Ron!" she told him coolly. "Maybe he finally realized that Slytherins are also just humans!"

"Hermione! We're talking about Slytherins here! And not just any Slytherins; we're talking about Malfoy and his goons! That's not growing up – that's definitely something different!" Ron answered her worried.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but then closed it again.

"Maybe you're right," she begrudgingly admitted. "Maybe it's really odd …"

Albus Dumbledore said nothing, and waited for both of Harry's friends to speak their minds. He himself had held some concern about his pawn since this summer. Somehow the boy seemed to be different than at the beginning of the summer. Of course there was the death of Cedric Diggory that Harry had witnessed, and also the fact that Harry was growing up, but still … Albus Dumbledore had thought he would be encountering an angry teen – not an independent, boyish adult!

And then Mad Eye Moody had come to him …

Yes, thanks to his old friend, Albus Dumbledore was sure that Harry was slowly being taken over by Voldemort – that even his friends had noticed something odd was going on only supported his guess about the possession of Harry Potter.

Of course, Albus Dumbledore had planned to talk to Harry's friends to confirm his theory. That they had come to him without being summoned told Albus how grave the situation had become.

"Well … I think the most troubling thing is that Harry suddenly does not tell us everything anymore," Hermione said in that moment.

"Yes," Ron said. "Last night he left the dorm and where he went I don't know … He returned late in the morning. Normally he would have told us what he was doing tonight – but he didn't. He didn't even tell us that he left the dorm last night! He just acted as if nothing happened!"

"And he is suddenly extremely formal with everyone!" Hermione said frowning. "He called Malfoy 'Heir Malfoy' when they met on the train! He's talking about 'Professor' Snape instead of just 'Snape' and … and … and …"

"Yes!" Ron said. "It's as if he suddenly swallowed a book on pure-blood upbringing or something like that." He pulled a face while saying that. "I don't even understand how he can stand to be so formal and civil with a Slytherin – especially Malfoy!"

Now Albus frowned.

He knew about the rivalry between Harry and the Malfoy heir. He had not encouraged the rivalry but he also had done nothing to stop it. He was content with the differences between the boys as it had stopped Harry from making friends with the children of Death Eaters and Voldemort's supporters. That they now were starting to be civil to each other was worrisome – especially when Albus also counted the different behavior the boy was displaying the rest of the time.

"And he never uses his text books anymore to do his homework!" said Hermione. "Well … he uses his text book as long as we are near but I have also seen him just writing down a whole essay on the goblin wars without even looking up the facts! Harry hates history! He never even tried to remember anything about it – and suddenly he writes an essay without even looking up the facts?"

"And he suddenly learns potions like a fish to water! He didn't even look once at the instructions!" Ron said.

"Yes!" Hermione said. "He even helped Neville! I could hear him teaching Neville about potions and potion ingredients. Some things he said even I didn't know – I looked them up and everything he said was correct, even if it some of it was really obscure or largely unknown knowledge!"

Now Albus was definitely worried.

Of course, he had been thinking along the lines of possession since Alastor Moody had told him his findings – but knowledge like that? Albus Dumbledore wasn't sure if Voldemort would truly aid Harry in his classes, even if he had possessed the boy!

Of course, there were also other explanations to how Harry had come to know the knowledge he had, but even if Harry had found some time to read some of the books in Sirius' library in Grimmauld Place – that knowledge was nothing you could gain in such short amount of time like some weeks or even a summer … so how?!

There was just one reason that could maybe explain the sudden knowledge Harry displayed: Voldemort was planning something.

He was planning something and he needed Harry to know about these things to achieve his goal, because even if Harry was nothing more than a puppet to Voldemort at the moment – to give him knowledge like that could be fatal for Voldemort if Harry was freed. So there definitely had to be a reason why Harry suddenly gained that particular knowledge!

Albus shuddered.

Potions was one of the oldest branches of magic. It also was one of the most dangerous branches. That Voldemort had given Harry knowledge in this old and dangerous art definitely did not bode well for the future …

Albus had to stop him. Whatever he planned – this time it definitely had to be stopped as fast as they could! Especially now, when Harry might still be saved …

"I thank you for sharing this with me. I will look into it," he finally promised the children and dismissed them afterwards.

The children hesitated just a moment, but finally left and Albus Dumbledore turned to his fireplace, threw in some floo powder and flooed Severus Snape.

"Severus – I fear I need your help …"

xXxXxXxXxXx

Meanwhile, Harry entered Madam Umbridge's office for his detention. He was in a good mood. Earlier that day he had gotten an idea where the missing ward-book he was searching could be. It had been by chance that he had overheard the Ancient Runes Professor babbling about a book written in runic language that she couldn't translate. She even had gone as far as questioned the language used in the book. "As if it isn't written in Brezhoneg," she had told the uninterested Minerva McGonagall. Harry, on the other hand, had been very much interested in her conversation. If he was right, she had the book he was looking for.

Now Harry just needed a way to get it – and getting it was definitely easier than searching for it!

Because of that, Harry had been in a good mood – until Umbridge gave him a blood quill to use for his detention …

And suddenly Harry was fuming.

Normally a blood quill was used for very important contracts between wizards and other magical beings. This blood quill, instead, was being used by the professor for torture. An object like that used for something like torture would turn evil if used too often in that method. The once neutral blood quill had been turned into an Evil Arts object – an object that would show up in his results when the improper ward he planned was activated. Using it on a student – Harry fumed with rage thinking about other children who could have had detention with the new professor before him.

If Harry had not already planned to take on the Ministry, this would have been the final straw for him to do it.

"Well – start writing," Umbridge ordered impatiently, and Harry looked at her with storm-clouded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," he hissed, his face displaying no emotions.

Then he took the quill and set its wicked tip on the parchment.

And suddenly he smirked evilly when a thought penetrated his rage.

"Time for a little more Twisting," he thought to himself. Yes – this was definitely something the newspapers would be interested in. He just had to survive the detention tonight …

And he somehow had to protocol her deeds.

Harry twisted the quill in his hand. "Something simple should do," he decided and started to write. Normally he would have planned the improper ritual he decided to do in advance. It was dangerous to create a ritual straight out of one's head. There were normally too many variables to do something like that without the proper calculations – but Harry had an advantage this time. He had created rituals like this since his childhood. For a small thing like that he had no trouble to calculate the placing of the runes without writing down the calculations. He had done rituals like that too often to even have to think about it too much.

Runes carved itself in the back of his left hand. He turned the parchment, writing in a circle. Furtak and Parsel runes mixed with Chinese characters and a few Egyptian hieroglyphs. Normally the circle he was drawing would have been used to heal. This time it was used to protect the blood quill user and to aim its wrath against the teacher who dared to hurt the users. Meanwhile he made sure that Umbridge still had not seen what he was doing.

She was reading.

_Good._

Harry finished the runic circle on his parchment – also carved in the back of his hand. He looked it over, to make sure that he had not forgotten something. Then he nodded and looked up again to see if Umbridge was still reading.

She was.

He activated the circle.

Pain shot through his entire body – starting from the runic circle on his hand. Then his natural heritage started to play in the activated magic and disabled the darkness that clung to the blood quill. A sudden white glow surrounded the quill and Harry shielded it with his forearm so that the glow would not be seen by the professor.

When the glow finally vanished again, the parchment was empty again and the runic circle on the back of Harry's hand had disappeared.

"Good," he muttered under his breath. Then he started to write again – this time the words he should have been writing from the start.

_I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies…_

Every single sentence carved the words deeper in the back of his hand. But instead of flowing blood, a soft golden light was emitted by the carvings of his hands. He smiled softly. The carving still hurt his hand but he hadn't written the runic circle to stop the hurt. He had written it to stop the evil that was emitted from the quill and to document the victims. He had written it to aid in healing and to stop it from scaring. The hurt was nothing he would or could prevent. He had not dared to add a protection against it because he knew that the other children in school would be far too reckless with detention with the professor if the quill did not hurt – and he didn't want more victims than there already were.

"And I doubt that the Ministry will stop her or even remove her because of a blood quill …" Harry thought bitterly. No. He had to wait until he himself would have the power to remove her. Until then, the children had to persevere …

"Because Dumbledore will do nothing," Harry thought angrily. "He would not dare to do anything – even if it would be in his rights to do so. He is more interested with his standing in the Ministry than doing his job."

Of course, Albus Dumbledore had lost his place as the Supreme Mugwump in the International Confederation of Wizards and some of his other very impressive titles – but he still was a political power to reckon with. He would not dare to lose his position at Hogwarts as well just to stop some rowdy children getting hurt.

Harry had seen him do nothing before – he knew that Albus Dumbledore was not yet inclined to show his hand.

"And I also can't tip my hand until I'm ready," Harry thought to himself. But even if he couldn't – he had other ways to ensure the safety of his comrades.

And so he scribbled on and on until he finally was allowed to stop. He stood up, packed his things and left after showing her his hand for inspection. She was looking at it satisfied – unable to see the golden glow Harry could see in the carvings.

He smiled inwardly and left.

Outside a little black cat was waiting for him.

"Hello, Reg," he greeted the cat smiling. "Shouldn't you be in the dungeons or the Chamber? This part of the castle is in the firm hands of the Headmaster after all."

Reg meowed.

"I'm still not sure if the castle has wards to tell the Headmaster if there is an animagus in this part of the castle, you know? I still have to see the ward book to be sure what wards we are dealing with, after all."

Reg meowed again, his eyes following the blood dropping from Harry's hand on the ground.

"Don't worry," Harry said. "It's nothing grave. I just had to use a ritual to stop the blood quill from taking the blood of the writer. Wanna bet how long it takes her to collapse from blood loss?"

Reg meowed again, this time however it sounded more like a snort.

Harry grinned.

"I thought it would be the right thing to do," he said. "After all, she's the one who wants to use the Evil Arts. I cannot stop her using it until I have control – but I sure can stop her from using others as her victims."

The silky black cat snorted again.

"Well – let's go to bed" Harry said. "We can deal with the rest tomorrow."

Or so he thought.

Instead he was asked to go to the Headmaster the next day. Harry just followed Minerva McGonagall to the Headmaster office without protest. There – behind his desk like always – was sitting the Almighty Albus Dumbledore, waiting for him.

"Harry, my boy," Almighty Albus greeted. "Sit down, child. Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you, sir," Harry answered while he sat down in front of the desk.

"Well, how are you, my boy?" the headmaster asked and Harry could feel the tentacles of Legilimency penetrating his mind and searching through the memories of his last days.

Harry let him be. He knew that the Headmaster would not find anything important in his head.

Then an idea formed in his head, and instead of letting the Headmaster roam his memories as the Headmaster saw fit, Harry softly guided him to the detention he had had yesterday.

"I am well, Headmaster," he answered instead.

"That's good, my boy," the headmaster said while looking at the memory of Harry's detention with Umbridge. Almighty Albus' search glided over the ritual Harry had performed at the detention as if he was unable to see it – and he somehow really was unable to see it – and sat on the writing with a Blood Quill.

Harry just smiled inwardly. He loved his Occlumency shields. But when the Professor turned from the memory with the Blood Quill to the next one, Harry frowned.

So the professor really did not intend to do anything about his Defence instructor using an object like that – an object that _definitely_ would fall under the Evil Arts by its use to torture?

"Why am I here, sir?" Harry finally asked when the Almighty Albus did not continue speaking.

"You're here because I think you should be taught Occlumency," the professor answered kindly.

"Occlumency, sir?" Harry said, playing the innocent fifteen-year-old who he definitely wasn't.

"The Art of protecting your mind from Legilimency. Legilimency is the Art to… well… 'read' a mind, Harry. Voldemort is a very adept Legilimens and you might end up in trouble should you not learn to protect your mind from him," the Almighty Albus answered.

"Why?"

"You don't want to give him an advantage in battle – do you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head the negative.

"Then it's settled. Professor Snape will start teaching you on Monday."

"Snape?! Why Snape?! Can't you do it, sir?" Of course Harry had no real interest in being taught Occlumency by the Almighty Albus Dumbledore – but he also knew that the original Harry would have wanted it.

"Professor Snape is a very adept teacher, Harry," Dumbledore answered. "I am sure you will get along with him if you just try."

"He hates me, Professor," Harry answered sincerely. He was sure that Snape hated him even more, now that he had shown his ability in potions. Still – Harry somehow liked to rile up the potion master for fun. He was sure that he would have plenty of fun doing so in his 'Occlumency lessons'.

_As if he needed any at all …_

"I am sure you're exaggerating," the Headmaster said. "And now run along. I am sure your friends are missing you terribly."

Harry just snorted, but stood up to leave. He was sure that the Almighty Albus was right in one thing at least: his friends would be missing him. He had not hung out with them as often as the original Harry normally did. The problem wasn't that he didn't like either of them. The problem was that he could and would not trust them.

Ron was of the jealous kind. He had shown the original Harry more than once that he could not be trusted.

Hermione, instead, was of the adult-admiring kind. She also had gone behind the original Harry's back. Of course she had done it because she was friends with Harry – but Harry could not trust her to refrain from doing it again if she thought it was necessary.

"If she has not done so already," Harry thought. "There has to be a reason why I suddenly have to learn Occlumency …"

For a moment he contemplated if he should protest another time, but then he left without another word. It wasn't worth it. He had nothing to fear from these lessons and maybe he would even learn something new. Who knew?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody entered the Headmaster office through a side-door after the boy had left.

"He's not possessed, Albus," he said softly. "The Occlumency lessons won't help the lad in any way." The Headmaster just sighed.

"I know your theories, Alastor," he said. "But you have to –"

"The boy is_ not_ possessed, Albus!" Moody hissed, not caring that he interrupted the other man. "I don't know where the true Harry Potter is, but the boy you met today _isn't_ Harry Potter! He's an imposter!"

"Alastor, my friend, there is no way that the boy could have been kidnapped in the summer! He was protected the whole time!"

"The whole time except when the Dementors came to Privet Drive! He could have switched himself with the child that day!"

"Harry showed his memories in the court room! He couldn't have faked them!"

"Maybe he took the memories from the true boy and inserted them in his mind until he could show them in the court!"

"I was in his head just a few minutes ago!"

"If he's a true Occlumens he could have faked everything you saw!"

"He doesn't have a flask for Polyjuice Potion and he doesn't drink regularly enough to –"

"There are other ways, not just Poyjuice!"

"Not for most wizards!"

"Then the imposer is not like most wizards, Albus!"

"You are paranoid, my b – friend!" Albus said heatedly. Normally he would never say something like that but he had enough. Moody had bugged him with his conspiracy theories for the whole last week. He'd had enough.

Moody stared at him with cold eyes.

"Fine," he finally huffed. "Fine. Be that way! But don't come apologizing to me after you realize that I'm right!"

"Sometimes the answer to a problem is simple, my friend."

"And sometimes it's complex! I'm telling you, Albus: something is wrong with _that_ boy! And I will find out exactly what! You, my_ friend_, might not believe me but_ I_ know that I'm right, and I will find out what happened to the real boy, even if it's the last thing I ever do!"

And with that Moody turned and left.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

_Sorry for the wait._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	33. Chapter 32: 900-1000AD Betrayal of Trust

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Today without beta. Will be beta-ed as soon as my beta has some time again._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 900 and 1000 AD**

**Betrayal of Trust**

sss

The start of the new school was a little bit rougher than Salvazsahar had anticipated. The first hurdle they had to cross was just two weeks before the students would come. They had decided that the students should gather at Grim Manor and that one of them would then come to bring them to the castle.

It was a week before one of them had to leave to Grim Manor, when Sal one day entered the Great Hall and saw that the other Founders had gathered in front of the teachers table, talking with each other heatedly.

"Did something happen?" Sal asked them when he saw their nervous faces.

Rowena grimaced.

"We won't have enough servants to help us maintaining the castle and the students," Peverell said. "Even if we relocate every servant of Grim Manor to the castle it still won't be enough."

"Yes, and there is no way that the children can help us in the kitchen like we did it before now," Rowena added. "Their schedule has changed too much to do it and there are too many mouths to feed to manage the cooking even with their help…"

"And I told you we simply should add some house elves to the castle!" Helga said, frowning at her sister-in-law. "It would be the easiest way to gain servants without relocating the ones of Grim Manor."

"Do you know how expensive it will be to buy enough house elves for the castle?" Peverell said, frowning at his wife. "We don't have enough money to buy that much and we definitely don't have enough people to bind them to them. It wouldn't do them any good if we bought them just for them to starve because of the lack of magic they are able to access."

Sal frowned when he heard those words.

"Starve? I fear I don't understand…"

Peverell blinked and turned to Sal.

"You never had a house elf, growing up?" he asked astonished.

Sal shook his head. "Should I have had one?"

"Well, it's normal," Rowena said. "Since the romans brought them with them to Britain, it's normal for a lord to have at least one house elf. And why not? They are useful creatures and they need another magical being to bind themselves to so that they are able to fully control their own magic. If they don't have a binding they will slowly go crazy. They literally 'starve' because of the lack of magic that flows through their veins. If they are too long unbound, they will die, so they bind themselves to wizards like us or other purebloods. In return they serve the one they are bound to."

Sal listened interestedly. Until now he had never heard about house elves in the past. Of course he remembered Dobby but until now he had never thought about how the house elves came to be or why they were serving wizards.

"But there is a limit of house elves you can bind to yourself," Godric added. "A pureblood like a vampire or such would be able to bind more to them" – To Sal's surprise he saw Godric grimace when he said the word "pureblood". Of course until now they had just once talked about purebloods – or Firbolgs, like Sal called them – but at that time Sal hadn't seen Godric grimace the way he did now – "But a wizard like us is just able to bind two, maybe three house elves to themselves – and that definitely won't be enough to keep the whole castle clean."

"And they have to be bound to a wizard?" Sal asked softly.

"Where else should they be bound to?" Godric said sorting. "They need magic to survive. If they don't bind themselves to a wizard they won't be able to get access to the magic they need."

"What about binding them to the wards?" Sal asked interested. "The wards of the castle are strong. Shouldn't they have enough magic for house elves to be able to bind themselves?"

Peverell, Helga and Godric gawked at him. Rowena frowned.

"The castle would have to be sentient for that to be a possibility," she said coolly. "I have never heard about a sentient castle, so there's no way that that is something we could do."

To Sal's utter amusement, Rowena stumbled in the next moment forward as if she had been shoved.

"What?" she exclaimed surprised and whirled around to look at the air behind her.

"It seems as if my father has a different opinion," Sal exclaimed smirking. He knew of course that the slight shove Myrddin's essence had given Rowena was the most it could do, but it was nevertheless funny to see Rowena stumbling forward seemingly without a reason.

"Your father?" she repeated with huge eyes and Sal snorted.

"You lived the whole summer in this castle and you never found out it was sentient?" he asked amused.

"Sentient?" this time it was Helga who spoke. "How?"

Sal shrugged.

"The castle is surrounded by soul wards," he answered. "Those wards and the very soul of my father are the reason for the castle's sentient state of mind."

"Oh," this time Rowena's surprise was echoed by the other three.

Then Helga's eyes lit up.

"So we can bind the house elves to the castle instead of to us?" she asked interested. Sal shrugged.

"I would recommend putting up another layer of blood wards to strengthen the wards, but then, yes, we could," he said.

So instead of relaxing the last two weeks until the end of harvest, Sal and the others warded the castle with blood wards and searched for house elves. It was Helga's idea to simply offer the castle as a sanctuary for the house elves.

It worked.

As soon as the word was spread, the first house elves appeared and bonded to the castle. At the end of the two weeks, the castle had seventeen elves – enough so that at least the most important tasks were tended to. Another three weeks later the number of house elves would have doubled.

"Sometimes", so Sal mused. "Sometimes Helga had definitely terrifying good ideas."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was the night before one of them had to go to Grim Manor to retrieve the students when they decided to celebrate the beginning of their apprenticeship program in the castle.

Godric and surprisingly Peverell had decided that that event had to be celebrated thoroughly and had fetched some Firewhisky from wherever. Sal suspected those two had it brought with them all along – or had bought it when they had left to order furniture or to look after their estates.

Anyway, they had it – and they were determined to fill up their wives and Salvazsahar.

Not that the women minded it at all.

Even Sal who normally didn't drink was alright with the improper drinking session that night.

"Ya know, we sould… er… shwould think of a way to sort the apprenice… appentice… ya know the things we fetch tomorrow – we sould find a way to swort them when we're gone!" Godric slurred.

"Yeah," Rowena said. "Sumat like a talking hat or a colour chaining… changing cloak."

"Yeah, right you are! Right you are!" Helga exclaimed giggling. Peverell instead was staring into the flames of the bonfire they had started in the evening, his face sever as if he had been told the reason of life just a moment ago.

"We also have to find a way to ensure the apprentices will continue to come after we are dead," he said before he burst into tears. "We will die someday and then there is no one there anymore to continue our work."

Salvazsahar had to keep in his laughter when he heard Peverell. The man definitely fell out of his normal sever character when drunk.

"Maybe we sssshould go t'bed," Sal said, also slurring a little. He wasn't as dead drunk as the others but he had had his fair share of Firewhisky and Parseltongue had crept into his voice.

"Yeah, bed. G'd idea," Godric slurred. "Bed's sooooft, waaaarm 'n' sooo sooft."

"G'd bed, g'd bed," Helga snickered. Rowena just giggled but with Sal's help they all stood, Sal extinguished the flames of the bonfire and they returned to the castle proper.

"Y'know, we neeeeed 'name foa th'castle," Rowena exclaimed drunkenly. "Can't callit castle all th'time afer all…"

Sal just snorted.

"Then think o' somethin'," he said, before he shoved her and Godric into their rooms. "Bed, y'two."

After he had done the same to Helga and Peverell – as long as the others were in their rooms he did not particularly care if they found their way into bed – Sal returned to his own quarters. In there he simply fell onto the bed and without changing fell asleep.

The next morning was gruesome – and not only because of his hung over.

It was six in the morning, just an hour after he finally had entered his quarters, when someone pounded against his door, singing.

"Go 'way!"

The pounding just increased, so Sal finally stood up and went to the door. In front of it stood Rowena next to a sleepy looking Godric, Peverell and Helga.

"I know how we name this castle!" she piped up laughing and then started to sing again. "Haugh's Wards, Haugh's Wards, Hoggy Warty Haugh's Wards! Haugh's Wards, Haugh's Wards, Hoggy…"

"Fine," Sal interrupted her snarling. "We name the academia Haugh's Wards. Could we please return to our beds now?"

"Sure!" Rowena said while smiling brightly and then entered first his rooms and then his bed chamber. "Coming, luv?"

"Yeah," Godric said, shoved Sal to the side and followed Rowena.

Sal gawked at them.

"That's my bed! I meant you should return to yours!" he cried.

Helga just padded him on the head and drew her husband into Sal's quarters and his bed chamber.

"Coming, Salvaszahar?" she asked.

Sal just gawked at her.

Then he snorted.

"Get them drunk and suddenly they are able to pronounce my name!" he exclaimed disbelievingly. Then he followed the others into his bedchamber.

When Sal woke up the next time at midday, his head was killing him – but not only that. He found himself lying at the foot part of his bed, in his back were poking some sharp limbs and a leg was slung over his hip, the foot nearly poking him in the nose.

It was a hairy and broad foot, so Sal deduced that it had to be either Godric's or Peverell's foot.

He groaned.

_How by wind and fire had they all ended up in his bed?_

And then last night caught up with him.

"I didn't give my go ahead to name the castle 'Haugh Wards', did I?" he asked aloud. He definitely didn't want to believe that he could have been so out of it to agree to a name like 'Haugh's Wards'!

"Yes, you did!" Rowena's voice was heard somewhere behind him.

Sal snorted.

"And it was your idea!" he said coolly.

"It was! And I still find the name very catching!" Rowena answered sniggering. "And because all of you agreed, it counts! We name our – what did you call it? Academia? – academia Haugh's Wards!"

"Yeah! Haugh's Wards, Academia of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" Godric was heard.

Sal just sighed.

"It could be worse," Peverell told him and a limb stopped poking in his back when he lifted an arm to pad Sal on the shoulder.

Sal could not even object to this reasoning, after all he still remembered the name his castle had in the future.

"Better Haugh's Wards then Hogwarts – not that I am delusional enough to believe that the name won't change in time!" he murmured to himself. After all, the castle itself was built above the Black Lake and the river that recharged it, so that it overlooked a great part of the in the wards included flood plains – which were called 'haugh' by the native people, so 'Haugh's Wards' was definitely fitting. Not that he thought that they couldn't do better if they tried. But finally he decided that there was nothing he could do about that at six in the morning and instead opted on a little revenge for being woken again an hour after he went to bed.

"You know that someone has to go today to fetch our apprentices at Grim Manor," he said then he smirked. "And I promise you, I won't be it." The answers were four loud groans and moans about headaches.

Sal smirked.

_Yep, revenge was sweet._

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Godric finally was the one who brought the students to their new home in Pictia. He had left two weeks ago and finally returned together with their new and old students.

They all looked at the castle in wonder after they had crossed the lake with boats. Sal had insisted on it. He had talked with his father and they had decided to welcome a student and to add them to the inhabitants of the castle, they would have to cross the lake. Like that it would be easier for the essence of Myrddin to recognize friend and foe.

And of course the first few of the castle was even more impressive if you stared at it from the lake…

When Godric entered the castle with the students, Sal saw that his friend was carrying a new sword at his hip – a sword that looked oddly familiar to Sal.

Sal blinked, but finally decided to say nothing for now. Instead he concentrated on using Legilimency to sort the students in their new houses. The most of the older ones he did not have to look. He knew were they would fit in, but the younger ones he sorted with his skills. It was tiring and he soon wished for the Sorting Hat just to escape his fate as 'The Sorting Hat'…

After the ceremony he had a headache.

Still, he kept quiet about it. Instead he welcomed his students back, told them the new and old rules and after that left them alone in their common room for the first time ever to return to the teacher's conference room – or what would be the teacher's conference room later on…

"How was your trip?" Helga asked Godric as soon as all five adults were present in the room.

"Pleasant," Godric answered and pulled out the sword he was carrying. "I also had time to go to the goblins to ask for a new sword. They sold me this one."

Sal stared at the sword. It was his. Exccaliebor – just that there were suddenly letters etched in the blade. '_Godric Gryffindor'_ it proclaimed proudly.

Fury rose in Sal's stomach.

"Sold?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Godric answered proudly while he caressed the hilt of his sword. "The goblin Garnag sold it to me for a very good price. He even engraved it when I asked him to do it."

"Sold," Sal repeated, his voice suddenly deadly. Godric stopped caressing his sword and stared at Salvazsahar.

"Salazar?" he asked hesitatingly.

"He _sold_ you this sword?!" Sal said, his eyes blasting. Then he turned.

"I have to go. I have to gut a goblin tonight."

It was Peverell who stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Salazar – what happened?!" he asked astonished and uncomprehending.

Helga and Godric looked at him with huge eyes and Rowena had hers narrowed in thought.

"Betrayal," Sal answered. "That's what happened."

"Betrayal! How?" Godric asked confused. "I just bought a good sword – that has nothing to do with betrayal!"

As an answer Sal returned to the table and the others who were standing around it. Then he strode on until he reached Godric and ripped the sword harshly out of Godric's hand. He turned it and showed the phoenix and basilisk engraving on the hilt to Godric.

"Look at thissss," he hissed, Parseltongue playing with his normal speech. "These are the symbols of Morganaadth – the clan-leader of LeFay, _your _Head of House in the eyes of the goblin nation."

Godric blinked and then took the sword from Sal and softly caressed the tiny figures.

"I still do not understand…"

"This is the sword of a clan-leader," Sal answered with fury in his eyes. "It is holy in the eyes of the goblins. Only the clan-leader and his direct heirs or ancestors are allowed to use it. _You_, Godric, are an heir. You have the _right_ to use it. That you had to _pay_ to get it is an insult to the clan of Morganaadth."

Godric's eyes widened when he heard that.

"But… but…" he stuttered, but Sal was not finished.

"A goblin that is able to spit on something holy like that, spits on the goblin nation itself and all its dealings within the nation and between the goblins and other races. I cannot let this be. This goblin insulted you, it insulted its king and it insulted everyone that ever fell by the blade of that sword or held this sword in his hands. I will not let it tarnish my brother's and father's legacy!"

And with that he wrest himself free of Peverell's grasp, took the sword, buckled it and hurried out of the room, still fuming with his fury.

Behind him he could hear the hurried steps of Rowena, running after him.

"How?" she cried loudly. "How is Myrddin involved in all this?"

_So she finally had remembered…_

Sal stopped dead and turned back to her.

Behind her stood Godric, Peverell and Helga – all of them with confusion on their faces.

"What are you talking about?" Sal asked harshly.

Rowena snorted.

"Do not lie to me, Salazar _Emrys_, son of Myrddin Emrys" she said. "I am not an idiot. It took some time but I know whose son you are – even if I don't know how you are still alive after all this time."

The others stared at him when they heard Rowena's exclamation. Then they turned to Sal.

"That's… that's… Rowena is wrong, isn't she?" Godric stuttered.

Sal scowled, but he ignored Godric and answered Rowena icily. Of course, he could have denied it and tried to wiggle out of Rowena's accusing words, but he was riled up with fury and all he wanted to do was to go to Londinium and kill a goblin. Sal might have never been a true goblin but he had lived long enough with them to act like them if he worked with them – and now his goblin-raising was taking over…

"This has nothing to do with my birth-father" he said clearly but coolly to Rowena. "This is about the man who adopted me because I was a son of his line from my mother's side and he wanted an heir. This is about my brother. Atr had nothing to do with this sword – but I will not watch when my brother's and adopted father's names are tarnished."

He turned away again, just to be stopped by Helga this time.

"Adopted father?!" she asked.

Sal didn't react.

"Salazar!" the doors in front of Sal were blown close by a strong gust of wind. Rowena had drawn her wand and used a spell to close the doors.

The resulting bang brought Sal out of his fury induced stupor.

He stopped mid-step.

"Salazar," Helga repeated. "What did you mean with 'adopted father'?"

Sal stared at her, then he sighed and warily rubbed his forehead.

"Godric and you… you are the descendant of my younger brother Medrawd" he finally answered.

"So when you are talking about your father – you meant Arthur Pendragon?!" Peverell asked, half astonished, half flabbergasted.

"Yes," Sal answered curtly. "And now let it be."

"I still don't understand why _you_ are the one who wants to gut the goblin," Godric said. "Given… You are my ancestor's brother and as such you also have been insulted – but shouldn't_ I_ be the one who goes to gut the goblin? I mean: It was my family heirloom they sold to me…"

"And it was _my_ sword they sold," Sal countered. "To the goblin I am known as 'Morganaadth'. I am your clan-leader in the goblin nation and as such I_ will_ go there tonight and get revenge."

"Oh."

Silence, then Godric spoke again.

"Well… then I definitely won't stop you…"

"You wouldn't have stopped me even if you wanted," Sal countered banged open the door and left. The others watched him go, still reeling with what they had learned tonight.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ragnuk the First, King of the goblin, was in the middle of working on his paperwork. He hated paperwork, but he still had to do it. And he had done it the whole morning until now. After working hours and hours on his paperwork he had started to wish anything, anyone to interrupt him!

Well, at least he wished for it until suddenly the iron taste of fury cursed through his mouth, followed by the icy fire of a clan-leader that rippled through his veins. Ragnuk shuddered.

As the king of the goblins he could feel all clan-leaders and their feelings as soon as they came near him. Normally a clan-leader had enough control on his emotions to not disturb the goblin king – and the taste of old blood on Ragnuk's tongue told him that the furious clan-leader was definitely old enough to be able to shut the goblin king out… unless he was furious enough not to care or wanted to warn the king.

This time it was both, Ragnuk understood the next moment when his doors were blasted open and in marched a cold eyed human looking clan-leader.

Ragnuk never had seen this man before – but the magic of the clan-leader felt familiar, so Ragnuk definitely had met this man before. And a man it was, even if it definitely wasn't a human…

"Clan-leader" Ragnuk finally greeted the fuming man softly. The man said nothing. Instead he took out a sword and threw it on the desk before Ragnuk. The goblin king stared at the sword and softly held his hand over the hilt without touching it. To touch the sword of a clan-leader without his consent was an insult no goblin would even think about.

He knew the sword. Every goblin king recognized the sword of every clan.

The clan of Morganaadth – a clan of _Olde_ ones.

The clan had a high standing in the goblin nation. Its leader was a powerful Healer – not someone you wanted to cross at all.

He looked up at the cold eyed human-looking man in front of his desk. The clan-leader of Morganaadth, Morganaadth himself.

"Take it, my king" Morganaadth hissed, fury still tinging his voice.

Ragnuk raised his eyebrow but followed the demand of the clan-leader – a clan-leader that was not really his subject but still belonged to the goblin nation. To be called 'my king' by a free clan-leader like Morganaadth showed him that whatever happened was something grave.

He hesitatingly touched the sword.

The sword was filled with the fury of its wielder but also of the feeling of betrayal. Betrayal by one of them.

"What happened?" Ragnuk asked sharply.

"The child of my brother had to pay to be allowed to wield my sword" Morganaadth hissed furiously. "He was told that the sword was made for him. Pull it out!"

Ragnuk knew better than not give in to a demand of a furious and betrayed clan-leader. He pulled out the sword. When he saw the blade he hissed.

"Who?" he asked furious himself now.

"The child told me Garnag" Morganaadth replied. "I want to see him when I withdraw my aid to him. I want to see his eyes when he understands how he has wronged me."

Ragnuk gulped.

He knew that a healer normally did not fight – but taking on the fury of a healer was the most stupid thing you could do. A healer did not fight. A healer simply stopped to recognize you as one of his subjects.

"Sentinel!" Ragnuk cried and two of his guardians entered the room.

"Your majesty?" one of them said, eying Morganaadth nervously. Ragnuk knew they could feel Morganaadth's status in the magic surrounding the _Olde_ one.

"I want Garnag in here, now!"

"Yes, your highness" the other one answered.

A few minutes later Garnag entered the room.

"Your highness" he greeted, bowing to Ragnuk without even looking at the clan-leader next to the king.

"Explain" the king said, taking up the sword and showing it to Garnag.

Garnag sneered.

"The human asked me for a sword and this one appeared. I thought it prudent to make some money with a fool like him."

Again the fury of Morganaadth tasted like iron on the king's tongue – iron and blood.

"You dared to befoul the sword of a clan-leader with your greed?!" Morganaadth hissed. "You dared my wrath to gain money that belongs to my clan – a clan of the goblin nation?!"

Garnag looked up sneering – but the sneer vanished when he suddenly was met with the familiar power of a goblin clan-leader.

His eyes widened.

"C…clan-leader?!" he stuttered, shivering under the death glare of the man in front of him.

The answer was a cruel smile – a smile Garnag recognized as a death sentence even in the human looking face of the other.

"I… I would never dare… dare to befoul a clan of the goblin nation!" Garnag insisted. "You… you cannot be part of a… clan…"

The green eyes now shone with death and behind their debts hell was burning. Garnag shivered and turned to the king with pleading eyes. The king looked away and dread settled in Garnag's stomach. And then the human looking clan-leader spoke again – no, he hissed, his voice marred with the soft hisses of a snake…

"Not a clan?! Not a clan?" he whispered and Garnag shivered when the soft hisses of Parseltongue-filled words caressed his ears. "You tried to _trick _my heir, you _sold_ my sword and now dared to insult me even more by telling me it was all for the money that belonged to a clan –_ my _clan – long before you were even born! You disgust me!"

There the clan-leader stopped and Garnag suddenly was very aware of the sword blade that caressed his cheek without hurting him. He eyed it warily. But even with his eyes on the sword he was not prepared for the knife that came out of nowhere and marred his face with the symbol of a traitor. Garnag's eyes shot up and met with the eyes of Morganaadth.

Said clan-leader sneered at him. "I do not want to see you again. You, Garnag the Greedy, are no subject of mine. You will be less than dirt beneath my feet from now on. You will be marred with your shame so that no one will ever dare to even look at you again. You will suffer until you die – and die you will. Pray that it will be soon because if it isn't you will suffer endlessly from my curse until you die" with that Morganaadth shed his sword and knife and left the room.

Garnag sighed. He had feared the wrath of the clan-leader but now he was content so he turned to his king again and sneered.

"This human has no idea how to be a clan-leader" he said sneering. "I cannot fathom how he even got to be one. I know, my king, that you would be wiser then to make a human like him a clan-leader."

But Ragnuk just shook his head sighing.

"You have no idea what he has done to you, Garnag" the king said. "Morganaadth is one of the oldest or maybe even our oldest clan-leader. You do not cross him – never."

"Why? Because he mares your face with the symbol of a traitor?" Garnag sneered. "I might have lost my honour with this symbol – but there is far worse than being marred as a traitor."

"There is – and you have been given the worst fate" the king replied and shuddered. "I remember him saving my life when I was a child and I remember the words my father spoke when he heard the fate of my attackers. 'Just ask for my sword when I have wronged you. I will give it to you freely so that you can stab me. It will definitely preferable to this punishment' he said – and he was definitely right. I would prefer to be killed with my own sword then to die your death."

Now dread settled in Garnag's stomach.

"My death?" he asked hesitatingly. "He didn't do anything…"

"You are wrong. He cursed you with the most dreaded curse his kind can come up." the king retorted. "Morganaadth has revoked your right for a healer. No goblin healer would go against the words of Morganaadth. They all will follow a fellow healer long before thinking about kinship to you."

Garnag paled.

"A healer?" he whispered.

"No, Garnag" Ragnuk answered. "_The_ healer. Morganaadth was the healer in charge of the Battle of the Great North Fields. He's one of our best – to act against him and his heir was a serious mistake in your life."

Garnag paled even more and his fingers run along the bloody mark on his face. The king send him a grimaced smile.

"Now you understand, don't you? He killed you as soon as he had marred your face" because no-one would go against a healer's wrath – and even if Garnag would be able to heal the injury on his own, from now on he would just be able to pray because whatever happened – no healer, no potion master and no-one with even the tiniest bit of healing knowledge would ever look at him again…

Garnag shuddered when he understood his fate.

"My king…" he started.

"No Garnag" the king said. "I will not change your duties to aid you after what you have done. I am the king. I do not go against the judgement of my clan-leaders."

With that Ragnuk dismissed Garnag and returned to his paperwork. He definitely had enough action for one day…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Sal returned to the castle, the others were waiting for him. Sal just shed is travelling clothes and returned his sword to Godric.

"Here. Take it," he said.

Godric blinked and stared at the sword.

"It is yours, Salazar…" he finally said. Sal just snorted.

"I left it at Gringoods for the heirs of my brother if they needed it. I do not mind if you carry it."

"Er… all right…" Godric hesitatingly took the sword. "Thank you…"

Sal just nodded and left the hall again. He had been gone long enough; he had to look out for his Slytherins… even if he might be a week late to do so…

The first class in the dungeon room he had chosen as a potion classroom was odd again. Especially because it was in the middle of the first class that Sal suddenly realized he had chosen his old potion classroom, the one Professor Snape had lectured in.

The rest of the class he pondered if it had been by chance that it was the same one or if it had been his own experience that let him chose this room as the classroom in the first place.

He snorted inwardly, when he thought about it.

"I bet Snape used that classroom because it was always used," he pondered under his breath. "Funnily I'm sure I wouldn't have used it if Snape hadn't!" The snort that wanted to escape was just in time suppressed.

It was later that day when he heard two newly named Gyrffindor talking – not that you could see that they were Gryffindor. There was nothing that proclaimed their houses – yet at least.

He wouldn't even have bothered listening, if he hadn't heard the words "Father's decided to forbid purebloods to enter our realm."

_Purebloods? _

_Firbolg._

_But why would a wizard forbid a Firbolg to enter his realm?_

Sal could not remember any time in the past where wizards were biased against Firbolg – well, except for the goblins. Somehow these always seemed to rub the wizards the wrong way, whatever why.

"Why did he do that?" the other one said, confused.

"Because they are dangerous," the other one replied. "Think about it! If they aren't allowed to enter your father wouldn't have been bitten by the werewolf!"

For a moment Sal thought about intercepting in their discussion, but then he let it be. It would change nothing if he talked to the children. He had to talk to the lords. Still, he would look out for discussions like that in the future…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Life went on.

Within the next month the children adapted to their new home and the odd quirks it had gotten thanks to Rowena, Helga and Godric.

Finally it was Samhain – or what later would be Hallowe'en.

If they still would have lived in Grim Manor, Sal would have left the manor three days prior to find a secluded place and prepare for the coming feast.

But this time it was different. This time, Sal had students he alone was responsible for so he had to stay near.

"You're not leaving?" Rowena asked him a day before Samhain night.

"I can't," Sal answered sincerely. "I cannot leave the children without an adult around…"

"You have done it before after harvest" Rowena pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"And you all chastised me for it," Sal answered.

"So… you'll feast with us?" Rowena asked but Sal shook his head.

Sal sighed. Of course he had heard of the feasts they had on Samhain. It was tradition to stay inside for the night and feast, but Sal had not grown up in the same time like the others…

"I do not celebrate Samhain like you do" he said softly. "I won't celebrate it with you."

Rowena looked at him surprised.

"You do not celebrate like us? So… how do you…?"

"It's the day of the dead, Rena," Sal answered sincerely. "Don't ask me to feast on a day like that."

Rowena frowned but let him go.

So the next day, while the others were feasting in the Great Hall Sal entered the Chamber of Secrets and in it, his ritual chamber.

He had planned for this day since midsummer.

The first thing he did was to draw runes on the floor of the chamber. Then he added some different potions on crucial points and some earth on others. At the end he put down some knives in the middle of the circle and stepped out of the ritual room to do a ritual washing and then return.

When he was done with that, he sat down in the middle of the runic circle, naked like the day he was born, and started to picture the runes he wanted to add to his blood-magic in his mind.

He closed his eyes and the first wickedly sharp knife in front of him was lifted in the air with his magic. One moment it hesitated in front of him while he braced himself but then it cut for the first time that night.

While wielding the knives with his magic, Sal lost totally track of time.

He lost sense of his own body and mind.

The only thing that existed were the runes, the skin and the knives that added the tiny runes to the skin.

Blood-magic.

One of the most forbidden magicks for nearly a thousand years – since the day the romans had killed Arthur and the most of the druids on the isles.

Sal did not care that it was outlawed.

Ever since the day he had finalized his awakening, Sal had used Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh to add to his blood-magic.

Blood-magic like he practiced was used to strengthen body, mind, soul and magic. There was no way to increase your magic by practicing blood-magic, but with time you had better access to your magic and your endurance to use magic increased. The same was said for body, mind and soul: you could not overcome your natural limits but with blood-magic you were able to reach them.

Using blood-magic for the body normally increased your life – an aspect Sal was not really interested in because he would live another thousand years if he used blood-magic or not.

Using blood-magic for the soul wakened your ancestry and increased your connection to the abilities you had inherited – be they magical, creature or mundane.

Using blood-magic for the mind increased your memory – something Sal really didn't need but did anyway because it was a part of using blood-magic – and aided you against foreign magic and intrusion of the mind. Simply said: It was another aid for those who thought Occlumency was not safe enough and Legilimency not subtle enough. Sal always had thought both…

Using blood-magic for the magic instead was tricky. Every ritual to aid the flow of the magic through the body had to be planned carefully. Not, that the other blood-magics weren't dangerous but doing blood-magic for your magic was not only dangerous but the power-rush you felt afterwards – not that you had more magic afterwards, it was just flowing better – simply was addicting. Sal had heard of thousands of druids who had given in to the feeling and had died an extremely painful death just a few days later. If you gave in, your magic would react to it and it would not stop to rush through your body anymore. Magic like that would burn you inside out in the end – a slow and extremely painful death.

And it was a blood-ritual like that Sal was doing tonight. He always used Samhain for blood-magic for his magic. The connection to the dead on that night aided him in grounding himself and not losing himself in the feeling of his magic.

Blood-rituals were done at least every second year. They had to be done regularly, otherwise Sal would slowly use the connection to his blood-magic and the results could be disastrous. Every experience, every loss and everything else important had to be added in another runic chain to his body. Sometimes he just had to add one or two runes to an existing circle, other times he had to draw a fully-fledged new one. It was his magic that told him what to do and he complied.

Sal was thoroughly. Every year on Samhain he would add runes to do with his magic, on Imbolc runes to do with his soul, on Beltane runes to do with his mind and on Lughnasadh runes to do with his body – simply said, his blood-magic was like a complicated diary of his life.

The last knife softly landed back on the floor. Sal inhaled deeply, then he opened his eyes and inspected his wounds. Newly engraved runes were covering his entire left shoulder his right hip and his left inner thigh, mingling with the other runic circles that were glowing slightly beneath his skin. The runes were bloody and red blood was slowly oozing out of the cuts and running down his back.

They seemed to follow the runes Sal had seen in his mind to the T. Sal sighed, then he softly destroyed the runic circle in front of him.

Pain shot through his left shoulder, thigh and his right hip, followed by the addicting feeling of power. He was drowning in power! He was powerful! He could do everything he wanted to even if others would object because he was more powerful than they were!

Salvazsahar gasped and tried to suppress the feelings, knowing exactly what would happened if he wouldn't be able to…

For at least ten minutes he rang with his magic, then the feeling slowly vanished until only Sal was left behind.

He was tired. His body ached even after the runes had sunk under his skin and bonded with the other runes. He was covered in blood and was shaking with exhaustion.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

On the way back to his rooms in the dungeons, Sal was going slowly. His body ached terribly – not that he hadn't expected it. It was a normal occurrence after using blood-magic on his magic. Fighting back the feeling of power always was extremely strenuous…

"By Myrddin! Salazar! What happened?!" Sal flinched and turned around to face whoever had found him on the way back to his rooms.

It was Godric.

"So the feast ended, hu?" Sal said softly, knowing that Godric always was the last to leave a feast.

"Er… no…" Godric said, sounding oddly sober for coming from a feast. Normally Godric was the first to get drunk.

Sal raised an eyebrow.

"You're strange, today, Godric," he concluded. "You're out here and the feast is still on – and you are sober…"

Godric snorted.

"No, I'm definitely not sober," he said. "And I'm out here because… well…"

He hesitatingly showed off his right hand which had until now been hidden behind his back. In it was a hat; a hat which looked as if it had a face – THE hat.

Sal nearly whooped with joy when he recognized the Sorting Hat in Godric's hands.

Of course he wouldn't show his joy – after all he hadn't told the others how headache inducting the sorting of the students had been…

"So… you're out here because of a hat," he said instead sarcastically. "A simple, odd looking hat."

"Er… something like that" Godric said, still eying Sal nervously as if he thought Sal would faint every moment. Salvazsahar could not even fault him. He definitely felt tired enough to lose conscious right here, right now.

"Something like that?" Sal repeated while he tried to ignore his shaking legs.

"Er… well… you see… I…" Godric stuttered then he straightened up. "I somehow enchanted it… I don't know how… but… well, when it started to talk and didn't stop anymore; Rowena was furious and drenched me in ice water to sober me up before throwing me out of the hall until I find a way to end the enchantment on my head…"

"Er, Godric – I know you're drunk but even you should be able to hear that the hat doesn't talk," Sal said, eying the silent hat confused. Of course he knew the hat would learn to talk eventually, but right now it definitely didn't.

"Yes, well. Stunning-spell, you know," Godric said embarrassed. "I told you it wouldn't shut up before."

"Ah… well, alright. Have fun," Sal said and turned around again to continue his way down the dungeons.

"Wait, Salazar!" Godric said, and one of his hands came down on Sal's shoulder. Sal flinched again, this time violently. It was just his luck that Godric had to choose his left shoulder!

"Shite! Salazar?!" Godric let go of the hat and before Sal could stop his friend, his tunic was ripped open and his left shoulder exposed.

It still was drenched in blood and the skin was of an angry red. The wounds itself had closed but blue and green bruises were littering the angry red skin where once had been open wounds and Sal had not wiped away the blood from the cuts. His shoulder looked like it had taken a front seat of a battle mage's target practice. Sal winced just by looking at it.

Godric let out a horrified gasp.

"Salazar! What by Myrddin and Morgana were you doing tonight?!"

Sal looked at Godric warily. He had never told the others of his blood-magic because he knew what the sorcerers of these times were thinking about it.

"Salazar?"

"I… I don't think you should know, Godric" Sal said while his mind played over and over Hermione's voice, talking about Salazar Slytherin being cast out of Hogwarts…

Godric scrutinized Sal's shoulder; then he frowned.

"I think I should know," he said. "Whatever happened: your shoulder looks horrible."

As if to emphasize his words, Godric prodded Sal's shoulder. Sal hissed in pain.

"Godric!"

"Don't Godric me, Sal," Godric said. "I have to know how hurt your shoulder is."

"It's not too badly hurt," Sal said and tried to escape Godric's fingers. "Believe me, I know."

"Salazar! Don't you dare to talk around the bush!"

Salvazsahar hesitated another moment but when he looked at Godric he understood that his friend wouldn't give up until Sal told him the truth.

He sighed.

"It was a ritual" he said sincerely.

Godric frowned.

"A ritual?" he repeated. His voice wasn't damning Sal so Sal scraped together his courage and defined it even more.

"Blood-magic," he said and Godric sucked in the air, staring at Sal with unsure eyes.

"Blood-magic?" he asked and this time Sal heard the accusation in Godric's voice.

For a moment, Sal had the inexplicable urge to apologize to his friend, but then he straightened his shoulders and looked his friend directly in the eye.

"Yes, blood-magic, Godric. The same blood-magic I have been raised with."

Godric gawked at him.

"Raised?! You're telling me that your father – your father, _Myrddin Emrys_ – raised you to use blood-magic?"

Sal sighed.

"Godric," he finally said, while he searched for the wall to lean against it when his legs started to feel like pudding. "Do you know when I was born?"

Godric blinked then he slowly shook his head.

"You never told…"

"I was born over a thousand years ago, Godric" Sal said truthfully. "When I was raised, there were no wands. Rituals, runes, potions and blood-magic – those were the magic I was raised with. I might have started to use a wand like you do – but I am still a druid. I won't quit using the magic I was raised with just because you started to call them dark."

Godric bit his lips and Sal sighed.

"Please, Godric. Just tell me if you can't accept it – I would prefer to know before you try to kill me for being dark," Sal knew he would leave if Godric could not accept him like he was. He did not want to destroy the school by fighting with the Founder of Gryffindor House.

"Salazar," Godric finally said hesitatingly. "Do… do you teach blood-magic to our apprentices?"

"No," Sal shook his head. "I would have told you if I did. I might ask the others in a few years' time to add some blood-magic rituals for the protection of the students against the dark arts but I did not teach any of them any kind of blood-magic until now."

Godric scrutinized him again; then he nodded.

"Let's get you back to your rooms," he said. Sal stared at him.

"That's it?! I say 'no' and your sole answer is 'Let's get you back to your rooms'?"

Godric shrugged.

"What else should I say?" he said. "I think I know you, Salazar. You never lied to us before so if you tell me you don't teach blood-magic to our apprentices I believe you. That doesn't mean I simply will accept that you practice it, but that discussion can be postpone at least until we reach your chambers."

Salvazsahar eyed his friend warily, but then he nodded.

"Alright," he said and slowly let go of the wall. His legs definitely were shaking now and he wasn't sure if he would be able to reach his rooms before he collapsed.

"Let me help you," Godric said and made a motion as if he wanted to start supporting Sal.

"Don't forget your speaking hat," Sal commented dryly. Godric just chuckled, picked up his head and again reached for Sal. This time Sal let him.

With Godric's support Sal was in his rooms just a few minutes later. His legs and hands were still shaky but when Godric sat him down on a chair and tried to pull of Sal's ruined shirt, Sal stopped him.

"I'll do that myself," he said. "Thanks."

But instead of leaving, Godric just stepped back a step or two.

"Do you intent to stay here to watch me strip?" Sal sneered.

The answer was a delicately raised eyebrow.

"Do you intent to sleep on the ground if you fall and are unable to get up again, tonight?" the Gryffindor Founder countered.

Sal just snorted.

"It's not the first time that I used blood-magic," he said. "I'm definitely able to look after me without you hovering in the background."

"So you are," Godric said uncaring, still planted on the same spot. For a moment Sal scrutinized him angrily but then he just sighed and striped with caution first out of his ruined shirt, after that out of his trousers.

He felt, more than saw Godric's eyes travelling over his body, taking in every scar and every blood-covered bruise he could see from his position. It was a clinical glance, there to assess the damage done to Sal but Sal could see a short flickering of horror crossing Godric's features when he saw the scars – especially the one scar Sal had gotten the day he died for Camelot.

Then his friend turned his eyes away and instead busied himself by magically calling a bowl and filling it with water. He heated the water and conjured up some cloths.

"Let me at least help you to clean away the blood," he said.

Sal eyed the water nervously.

"It's just water, isn't it?" he asked and Godric nodded. For a moment he hesitated, but then he inclined his head to give Godric the go-ahead.

The other founder smiled then he sat down the bowl on a table next to Sal's chair, gave a conjured cloth to Salvazsahar and circled Sal to have a better look at Sal's backside. When Godric started to clean away the blood that had from the shoulder flown down Sal's back, he started to talk again.

"The scar on your chest," Godric said hesitatingly but still too curious not to ask his friend. "Shouldn't you be dead? I mean, it looks fatal, you know?"

Salvazsahar just snorted.

"Is there a reason you ask or is it simply curiosity?"

"Er… well… I…"

Sal laughed softly when he heard his friend stutter embarrassedly.

"Curiosity it is," he remarked still silently laughing when his friend failed to answer.

"Well, it looks awful!" Godric tried to defend himself. "You can't expect me _not_ to ask!"

Sal turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

"And I thought you would try to assess if I am a danger to the apprentices and not if there are some war stories I'd be able to tell you!"

"War stories?" Godric ask interested. "You were in a war?"

Sal shrugged; just to hiss when his shoulder protested the movement.

"Several," he answered finally. "I'm a healer, Godric. Believe me, as a healer you'll end up on the battlefield if there is a war."

The answer was a thoughtful look.

"I forgot that you are a fully trained healer," the Gryffindor Founder said. This time Sal turned and looked at his friend in disbelieve.

"You're telling me that you forgot that I'm a healer after I practically called you back from the dead?" he asked astonished. "How by wind and fire did you manage to forget that you nearly died when we met?"

"Well, I didn't die, did I?" Godric answered shrugging. "And it was years ago!" Then he stopped and looked Sal over again. "Not that I could tell that it was years ago by looking at you."

Sal blinked uncomprehending.

"What…? Why?" he asked.

This time it was Godric who looked at him with disbelief.

"Maybe because you haven't aged a day since we met?" he said sarcastically. Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"Pot, Kettle, Godric."

"Well, I am a LeFay," Godric said as if this was the only explanation needed.

"And?" Sal said.

"And we LeFay's age more slowly than other wizards," Godric concluded and rolled with his eyes as if it was obvious to everyone but Sal.

"And what about Rowena and Peverell?" Sal asked.

"Something to do with their parents," Godric said. "I never truly asked. I just know that their parents were odd and that they left Rowena and Peverell to fight by themselves when they were just twenty years of age."

"Ah," Sal had suspected that the parents of those two had been Firbolg but until now he had had no evidence. That the parents left them when they turned twenty however was definitely supporting Sal's suspicion. Thirty years were the longest a Firbolg was able to change to human form – and that form for so long was a one-time deal, so it was no surprise that Rowena and Peverell's parents departed after those two were twenty. Their parents would have to go if they had been human for ten years when they met.

"But you, Sal, shouldn't you have aged since we met?" Godric asked him in that moment and brought him back from his thoughts with that question.

Sal blinked disoriented then he snorted.

"Have you forgotten who I am, Godric?" he asked with disbelieve in his voice.

"Hu?" Godric looked at him confused.

"Godric," Sal said patiently. "I am Myrddin Emrys' son. I am Arthur Pendragon's adopted son and adopted brother to Medrawd LeFay, your ancestor. Did it never occur to you that that makes me a lot older than you are?"

"Oh," Godric said, staring down at Sal. "But, how are you able to live so long? I mean, shouldn't you be dead now?"

Sal just snorted and pointed at his chest and the deadly looking scar on it.

"I have a little problem with dying, Godric," Sal said. "Add to that that my parents were Firbolgs and you have the explanation why I am still alive."

Godric looked at him thoughtfully.

"Oh, alright," he finally said. Then he hesitated another moment before he again gave in to his curiosity. "Did your father really teach you blood-magic? I mean, blood-magic is part of the Dark Arts and your father Myrddin is known as a very light wizard…"

Sal just snorted.

"The meaning of light and dark has changed over time, Godric," he explained. "The time I grew up in, it was normal to do blood-magic. Rituals and potions were the most often used arts of magic. For us, blood-magic wasn't evil, it just was a way to gain control over your gift."

"But it's seen as evil now – so why didn't you stop?"

"Because I can't," Sal answered sincerely. Godric gawked at him.

"What do you mean 'you can't'?"

Sal sighed.

"Blood-magic can be deadly if you…" he stopped, not content with his sentence. "There are rituals and rituals, Godric," he started again. "The first rituals a druid does are those to shield their body from the following rituals. After that comes the blood-wakening. If you wouldn't do the blood-wakening, you could stop after shielding yourself from other rituals. But after the blood-wakening you have to keep doing blood-magic. If you wouldn't you would lose the grip on your magic and finally on your mind. It wouldn't do you any good if you stopped."

"Oh," Godric said, his eyes wide. "So… so you have to do it? You would go crazy if you didn't, right?"

"Yes," Sal said then he shrugged. "But there is always a setback in every kind of magic you practice."

"I don't know a setback in my kind of magic," Godric snorted.

Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"Let me break your wand and we'll talk again," he countered.

"If you would do that I wouldn't be able to use magic… oh!"

"Yes, oh," Sal just shook his head at his friend. "Like I told you, every magic has a setback. You don't have enough control without your wand, I have to do blood magic every other year to keep a grip on my magic."

"So you can't help it," Godric concluded. Sal shrugged. Of course he could do blood magic less often, but in the end, Godric was right. He wouldn't be able to end it.

"And you won't teach it to our apprentices?"

Sal sighed.

"I was thinking about teaching them the protections," he said hesitatingly.

Godric frowned.

"Why?"

"Because you told me about the texts that still exist. I don't want them to go insane just because they decided to play with the instructions in the texts. And there will be some that will do it even if they are warned, don't delude yourself in thinking they won't."

Godric frowned at that, but then he nodded.

"You're right," he said. "But if you truly do it, please speak to the others beforehand."

Sal just nodded. He was surprised that Godric didn't object his plans, but he also was glad the other didn't. Like that he might not to go behind the others back to shield his students…

"So, I'm done," Godric said in that moment and vanished the bloody cloth he had used to wipe the blood off Sal's back.

"Thank you."

Godric just nodded and turned away while Sal put on his clothes again.

When Godric turned back to him he had the talking and silenced hat in his hands.

"Er… another question, Salazar," he said hesitatingly. "Would… would you mind to help me with _that_ thing?"

Sal just laughed.

"Well, I definitely have an idea what to do with it," he answered. "Give it to me."

When he later that day, it was after midnight after all, showed off his idea to the other Founders and told them to imbed some of their personality traits in the enchanted sarcastic hat, they looked at him oddly. At least they did until he told them he planned to use it to sort.

"Good riddance" was the only thing Peverell said when he heard about Sal's idea – and was promptly promoted to house the Hat for the rest of the year. Like that the Sorting Hat started to inhabit Peverell's office.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

_Sorry for the wait._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	34. Chapter 33: 900-1000 AD Prejudice

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Still not beta-ed. My beta has exams, I'll change it as soon as I get the beta-ed version._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 900 and 1000 AD**

**Prejudices**

sss

The real problems started three years later when Sal finally decided to push through his plans for the girls.

The Gathering of the Lords was loud as ever. But this time instead of vital matters they were discussing rumours.

"I heard that there's an immortal pureblood, running through the country and hunting sorcerers and sorceresses," Lord Gaunt said. "We should discuss what we will do to stop him from entering the Isles. I don't care if he wreaks havoc somewhere on the main land but not here under our reign!"

"Are you truly sure it's an _immortal _pureblood?" Peverell asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lord Gaunt just sneered.

"I heard that he was beheaded. Three days later he returned and killed his 'murderers'," Lord Gaunt replied hauntingly.

Peverell snorted.

"There is no pureblood that could survive something like that!" he countered.

"Obviously there is!" Lord Gaunt sneered. "And obviously we need to somehow keep our people safe! If there is truly a pureblood that can survive that then we must find a way to keep us safe from it!"

"There is no pureblood in the world that could do something like that – not without the aid of Dark Magic," Peverell objected.

"As if there is a way to get immortal with Dark Magic!" another Lord called in. In the next moments others voiced that they thought him right.

"There is," Sal's soft voice finally interrupted the others. Everyone fell silent when he spoke.

"You sound sure of that," Lord Selwyn said with a raised eyebrow. Sal just shrugged.

"I heard about the possibility before," he said. "It's a vile way to gain immortality, but it's a way nonetheless."

Lord Gaunt just sneered.

"I think you are a little bit too young to fully understand what you are talking about. Believe me when I tell you that there is _no_ way to gain immortality."

Sal opened his mouth to object but Lord McGonagall was faster.

"He's right, lad," he said. "There definitely is no way to gain something like immortality by Dark Magic."

"Yes, there are just purebloods and their unnatural abilities," another one said. "I bet there is a pureblood somewhere whose ability is to be immortal – and said pureblood is now killing people on the main land."

"I told you that there is no pureblood that can survive…"

"Oh, stop it, Peverell! We all know you think yourself an expert on purebloods but there are things that even _you _don't know!"

"For those I have my sister," Peverell snapped. This time some chuckles could be heard from various directions.

"Well, I at least did not hesitate and banned the purebloods from my lands," another lord called in. "Even if the beast isn't immortal – that it's still alive tells you that we should keep everything unnatural away from us. And purebloods _are_ unnatural."

Sal sneered but a lot of other lords nodded reluctantly.

Lord Selwyn sighed.

For a moment there was a lull in the conversation then the lord from before decided to go formal with his proclamation.

"Well, I propose we should vote if we ban purebloods from all our lands or if it's the individual lord's decision," the lord who had banned the purebloods from his land said. A second lord seconded.

Lord Gaunt and Lord Selwyn frowned, but Lord Selwyn nevertheless called out a vote.

Sal was shocked when he saw lords voting for the ban. It were not enough for a law, but too many nonetheless, or so Sal thought.

"The proposition was turned down," Lord Selwyn said. "We should stop discussing rumours and voting on them. Instead we should finally return to more important matters…"

From then on the meeting turned to the usual themes, like trading, the state of the crops, the division of the lands, one or two marriage proposals that were important for all lords and finally Haugh's Wards.

It was then, listening to Lord Gaunt's praise for their academia, when Sal finally struck.

"I thank you for your kind words, Lord Gaunt," he said smoothly after the lord had finished his praise for Haugh's Wards and its apprentices. "We all appreciate them very much. But not all things are running as smoothly as they should at our academia and I am sorry that I have to darken this meeting by proposing something that is very important to me but also very hard to accomplish. But the truth is that my plea would help our academia immensely if you accept my motion."

"Don't worry, Lord Slytherin," Lord McGonagall said. "Propose your idea to us and we will see if we are able to grand you your wish."

Sal nodded and stood. It had been two years ago when they first started to call him 'Lord Slytherin' in the Gathering of The Lords. It had been a joke at first, but soon Godric and Salvazsahar had lost their original names in court and all lords called them by the names they had taken at Haugh's Wards.

"You said it yourself, the lads we teach know more than a lad taught by solely one master," he started. "But that new knowledge isn't just a blessing for the lads, it's also a curse."

"A curse?" the other lords looked at each other, frowning.

"Yes, a curse. Until now the lads taught by one master, respected their wives after marriage because they knew that their wife had been taught magic like they had been – just from their fathers and not from masters. But now I started to hear words at Hogwarts that the lasses were worth nothing but too birth they heir. This new development concerns me because we wizards always respected our women highly."

He hadn't outright lied when he spoke to the gathering, but he definitely had stretched reality a little bit – not talking about the slight manipulation he had done by sending out his Slytherins to talk exactly like that near the other four founders.

_Thanks to fire and ice for the missing house-colours that would adorn the apprentice robes in future!_

"Lord Gryffindor? Lord Grim?" Lord McGonagall said with a concerned voice. It was clear that he wanted their opinion on that matter.

"I fear that Salazar is not exaggerating", Peverell said sighing. "Godric, Rowena, Helga and I also heard the rumours…"

_Yes, definitely thanks to wind and fire for the missing difference on the students' robes!_

The other lords frowned.

"Tell me, Lord Slytherin, do you have an idea what to do against that problem?" Lord McGonagall said.

"I thought about it long and hard," Sal answered while inclining his head. "The only option I see is to grant the lasses the same education the lads have. I would propose to let them go to Haugh's Wards."

The answer was a commotion and Sal had to raise his hand and wait a few minutes before he could continue.

"Of course I know the problems that come with it. It wouldn't be proper to let the lasses live with the lads. The idea I have would be that the lasses have their own dorm rooms in the Houses. The dorm rooms are shielded so that a lad is unable to enter. When the lasses go to class, they will go together and a house elf will accompany them. They will sit extra in the Great Hall and they will be allowed to take books from the library to read them in their dorm rooms. The castle will be warded so that a lad will be unable to come near unmarried lasses and lasses they aren't married with in an improper way. I wrote wards that will be able to distinguish what is proper and what isn't. "

It had been hard to create these wards and it had taken him the most of the last three years, but it was worth it, he was sure about that.

"Every professor who will teach at Haugh's Wards will have to take an oath that they won't behave in an improper way towards their charges. Every lass will be told the name of a house elf who will guard her if she wants to go somewhere by herself or who will aid her if she is in a dangerous situation. Like that it still should be proper for the lasses and at the same time the rumours that are at the academia in the moment will put to rest indefinitely."

The lords looked at each other with unsure eyes. They still hesitated.

"Don't forget that it is a lass who will later on teach her children her knowledge first. Long before the lads go to Haugh's Wards it is their mother who tells them about magic. Because of that a lass who knows more about magic will easier get a marriage contract than a lass who knows next to nothing. If they would have the same education like the lads again, their worth would just get higher than it is now and then it would be when the lads leave Haugh's Wards with the thoughts they have now about the lasses."

This time the faces of the lords were grim.

He got them. Sal smiled – at least he did until the first question was asked.

The next twenty minutes were pure horror. Sal was questioned mercilessly and finally the lords decided to think about it by themselves for another two days before they decided.

Two days later the lords gave in. The lasses would go to Haugh's Wards after harvest and Sal had finally gotten what he had wanted for years…

The day later Lord McGonagall proposed to make it mandatory to attend Haugh's Wards. He explained his reasoning that if the lasses also attended, he wanted to shield them as much as possible and to add Haugh's Wards and its rules to the law would just aid them in the long way. The other lords nodded. It wouldn't do well if a lass was kidnapped because two clans were warring and one of the clans decided that it would be easier to kidnap the daughter of the other clan-leader instead of to try another way for peace.

But with that the problems only started.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

With the entrance of the girls, Sal finally lifted the charm from the missing dormitories – something that brought him some raised eyebrows from the other four founders. Sal just shrugged and grinned when they looked at him until Rowena finally huffed and declared: "I should have known it!" And with that they moved on to other tasks.

The summer the girls gained entrance was also the summer they finally had to invite some more teachers to aid them. With the incoming girls it were simply too many students to teach them with only five of them.

"So," Godric said when they had their customary meeting at the Great Hall shortly before harvest. "We have three new teachers this year: a teacher for Astrology, a teacher for Etiquette and Writing and a teacher for Creature Lore." Godric was beaming when he mentioned the matron who would take over Etiquette and Writing. Since they had decided earlier that summer that they needed more teachers he had started to look for someone who could relive him from his duties in that part. He had been ecstatic when an old widow had decided that she would like to teach that part to the children. Godric simply hated to teach Etiquette and Writing.

"And sometime after Beltane our new potion master will arrive," Peverell added. Sal just grimaced. He didn't know the man who would take over potions from him and he definitely wasn't very happy in that regard. The other teachers he had been able to get to know beforehand but the recommended potion master had been touring the country so that at the end Sal hadn't met him. The only one who had was Godric – and Sal definitely didn't trust Godric in that regard. Godric after all wasn't even able to distinguish the top of a cauldron from its bottom.

"There's also a request from the lords to visit the school regularly," Peverell added in that moment.

"No," Sal said instantly. The others stared at him.

"We're talking about their children, Salazar," Helga said. "I am sure that a lot of them would be more at ease if they knew exactly how they children are living."

"They didn't request this since we founded Haugh's Wards so why now?" Sal countered.

"Maybe it's because their daughters are also starting to learn here?" Rowena suggested softly.

Sal frowned but then he sighed.

"Then let them come for a day and we show them," he said.

This time it was Peverell who frowned.

"Salazar," he said sighing. "There were multiple requests that they want to have access to the academia day and night. We others thought it a good idea."

"Yes," Godric said. "Especially the Mundane parents will be relieved if they can come and see their children whenever they…"

"No! No Mundane will set their feet on this land!" Sal knew he sounded racist in that moment, but in front of his inner eye he saw the icy steel blade coming through his chest and he heard the battle cries and the sound of the dying from the day he died for Camelot. "I won't allow _anyone_ absolute access to this land."

"Salazar!" Godric stared at him, his eyes blasting. "We are talking about the parents of our apprentices!"

"I. Don't. Care!" Sal countered hissing. "They don't belong here. They won't come here. That's my final word!"

Godric and the others gawked at him.

"This is our academia!" Godric finally said coolly. "You have no right to decide this by yourself. The others are all for it and we will follow whatever the majority decided!"

Sal bared his teeth at him.

"This is my ancestral home, Godric! And whatever chimaera you are following, I won't sacrifice my family's sacrifice just to comply with your wishes!"

And with that he stormed out of the Great Hall, not able any more to look the others in the eye.

_He had told them time after time that the wards of the castle were based on soul magic – had they never even once thought about what that truly meant?_

He couldn't believe that Godric and the others were willing to destroy the wards of the castle – wards that kept them safe – just to follow the wishes of the Gathering of the Lords!

The days and weeks after their disagreement, Godric ignored him – something the whole academia found out as soon as the children returned.

Rowena and Helga had a different approach. Instead of treating him with silent and the cold shoulder, they tried again and again to change his stance on emitting the parents to Haugh's Wards.

Finally Rowena snapped.

"You are utterly childish in this regard, Salazar!" she cried frustrated. "Why don't you even try to listen to us? Even you can see that it would just aid us in the cooperation of the Gathering if they had the ability to visit the academia whenever they wanted!"

"I don't care about the Gathering!" Sal replied calmly. "I told you weeks ago why I will never give in to your pleas. I won't change just because you hope I do."

"We built this place to teach apprentices! You can't suddenly start with refusing some of them entrance just because their parents want to see the academia beforehand!"

"And I told you that the parents can come if they must! Let them come for a day – a day, not whenever they feel like it!"

"But…"

"I don't think that a master would have tolerated the parents coming to his home whenever they wanted just to check on their child!"

"NO! But this is different!"

"It isn't," Sal hissed. "And I won't give in. If you want the parents coming whenever they want then search for another building. They won't come here, and that's my final word on that matter!"

After that Rowena stopped speaking to him as well.

Helga instead looked at him with bafflement.

"You never outright refused anything we planned to do," she said. "Why now?"

"Because until now your decisions were reasonable," Sal said. "Now you are just blinded by the words of the Lords."

Helga just frowned at him when he said that.

"I don't think we're blinded," she said. "I mean, what's so bad about letting the parents see their children? They wouldn't do any harm…"

Sal just snorted.

"You have no idea how the wards you live under work, so how do you know their visit truly does no harm? And I told you, one time, alright, let them come. But after that there is no _need _for them to be here."

Helga just sighed.

"You are acting like a child, Salazar," she said. "I know you are possessive of this castle – but being possessive and acting like you do, are two different kinds of shoes."

Sal just sneered at her. After that Helga also stopped speaking to him.

Salvazsahar still didn't move an inch from his point of view. He knew he couldn't give in, even when Godric started to hiss at him 'bigot' and 'Mundane-hater' after Sal still didn't give in, even two month into the new school year.

It hurt to be treated like that – not just by Godric but also by the women but Sal couldn't give in. If he did, he would have to destroy the soul wards so that the parents were able to get in – and that was one thing he would never be able to do.

Still, it would be the only way to comply with the other founders' wishes. Surly there would be some parents that could gain access without him destroying the wards – parents that needed a sanctuary and that had pure intentions – but the rest of them would be unable to enter without Sal letting them in. And he couldn't stand guard at the entrance forever just so that they could enter…

"There's a reason why you won't give in to their wishes, isn't there?" Peverell said one evening. Sal had been outside, sitting on a rock at the lake. He startled when he suddenly heard Peverell's voice next to him.

Peverell had said nothing to the argument he had been having with the other founders. The other man had not stood by his side but he also hadn't taken the side of his wife and the others. Instead he had chosen to treat Sal like he had always been threatening him.

Sal shrugged.

"When was there a time I would do something without a suitable reason?" he asked softly, staring unseeingly at the lake. Tomorrow was Beltane and the day after the new potion master would come to Haugh's Wards.

"I don't remember a time you hadn't had a good reason," Peverell said softly. "Why don't you give in to them?"

It was a question, not an accusation, but still Sal hesitated. Then he sighed and looked up at the sky and the wards that were shielding them, unseen to the naked eye.

"The soul wards – do you know how they are created?" he asked softly, deciding to explain his reason one last time.

Peverell shrugged.

"Not really. I know you have to die for them so that they can come into existence. I don't know how exactly they are created and how exactly they work but I doubt that even you know how they were created and how they work, exactly."

Sal sighed again. Then he rubbed his face tiredly.

"I know how they were created," he said. "I know exactly how they were created."

Peverell looked at him astonished.

"How? I mean, shouldn't it have been your father who created the wards on Haugh's Wards?"

Sal just shrugged.

"The blood wards on the castle, sure," he said.

Peverell looked at him oddly.

"There are no blood wards on the castle but ours, Salazar," he said. "I might not know a lot about warding – but I am definitely sure about that one."

Sal just rubbed his face again.

"Soul wards," he finally explained. "Are based on normal blood wards. The blood wards develop to soul wards if… if…" He stopped and rubbed his chest. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear the battle cries of the past and the sound of people dying. He could feel the cold steel piercing his chest and could hear his heart stop.

"Salazar?"

He startled and the memory let him go again. Peverell looked at him concerned.

"Salazar – what happened just now?"

"Nothing," Sal's voice was hoarse. "Forgive me."

Peverell just frowned.

"What did you want to say before you… stopped speaking?"

And with that question the phantom pain and the noise in his ears were back.

He fought against his past that tried to swallow him whole again and cursed his eidetic memory.

"Salvazsahar?"

Sal's head snapped up when he heard his correctly pronounced name on Peverell's lips.

"Are you alright?" Peverell's hands softly touched Sal's own which was unconsciously rubbing his chest above his heart. Then Peverell's hand grabbed Sal's and slowly pulled it away from Sal's chest. "Are you hurt, Salvazsahar?"

The name was spoken slowly, carefully. It was surprisingly painful to hear his correct name from the lips of another – not drunk – person again.

"I… I am well, forgive me, Peverell."

The other man did clearly not believe him. Instead he tucked at Sal's tunic and finally raised it to look beneath it. Sal's mind needed a moment to catch up with what Peverell was doing and when he understood the other man's action, he was too late to stop him.

Peverell's huge, concerned eyes met his.

"When did that happen?" he ask softly, still watching Sal closely, his eyes straying every other second to the horrible scar on Sal's chest – the scar Sal had been rubbing all the time.

Sal met his gaze head on.

"The question is not 'when', Peverell, it is 'where' and 'why'," he corrected the now grim looking man.

"Then tell me, where it happened. Tell me, why it happened," Peverell repeated his question carefully, his gaze sincere and sad.

Sal hesitated another moment, the noises of the battlefield again filling his mind.

"It happened just a few miles from here," he said softly. "It happened because I had to shield the castle and the people in it."

Peverell's eyes searched his face.

"The soul wards," Sal wasn't sure if it was a question or a comment, but he answered anyway.

"They were created when my fathers and I died, trying to protect the castle," Sal said softly.

The answer was a sharp intake of breath and a warm hand touched the ugly scar on his chest questioningly.

"I was pierced by a sword from behind," Sal supplied while he watched the empty sky. "It went right through my heart. Every other man would have died – and for a moment or two I indeed_ did _die. I just couldn't stay dead."

"Immortality," Peverell said slowly. "Immortality like the one the Gathering was talking about."

Sal chuckled weakly.

"It wasn't intended. I was… born… that way."

Peverell said nothing for a moment then he sighed again.

"So the soul wards," he said probingly.

"They started to exist because my family and I died that day," Sal said. "If I would do like the others want me to, I would have to destroy them. I would have to destroy the last legacy of my whole family for the hunger for power of a few arrogant lords."

The answer was a sharp intake of breath and Sal finally found the strength to look at Peverell again. Understanding and horror filled the eyes of the other man. His warm hand on Sal's chest moved until it was able to squeeze Sal's shoulder.

"I'll talk to them," Peverell said, clearly meaning the other founders. "Even they can't stay angry at you if they know that you would have to destroy the wards to abide their wishes."

Sal just snorted.

"I told them that truth weeks ago, Peverell," he said bitterly. "They don't care."

Peverell just pressed his lips together.

"They care," he objected softly. "They just don't truly understand what those wards mean. I'll tell them that your family sacrificed their lives for them. If they still don't listen I'll tell them that you died to shield this castle from everything and that I can't ignore such a sacrifice for something fickle like the desire of men."

With that he stood up and walked away, back to the castle.

"And if they won't listen?" Sal called after him.

"Then I tell the Gathering of the Lords 'no' myself," Peverell said without turning. "Some things are too precious to destroy just to fulfil unreasonable wishes."

They listened and slowly everything returned back to normal. The years passed and the trial run with the girls was seen as a success, so Sal put forth his next wish after he was sure that there would be no protest from anyone.

He wanted them to write down in their law that Haugh's Wards would be separated from any legal institution that was or was yet to come. The laws of Haugh's Wards were to be unchangeable.

Some days later he and the other Founders really made the contract with the Council of Lords to secure the freedom of Haugh's Wards and its students in every conflict that would come to be. It was a security measure everyone else thought too much but Sal insisted and 'Lord Slytherin' as he was called now had long ago gained a reputation of getting what he wanted – the last nail to this reputation had been the year before when he had added the girls to Haugh's Wards.

"And you say you don't have ambition" Peverell said after the contract was sealed. "Arguing with the Council until Haugh's Wards is practically an own country and then securing it until not even a rat could come in unnoticed!"

"Well – I have to keep them all out." Sal answered. "No Lord, no Mundane, no Pureblood, no sorcerer or sorceress who does not go to school here should be able to enter without being noticed."

"As if we would ever allow any purebloods to enter Haugh's Wards," Godric said snorting.

Sal grinded his teeth.

"Why shouldn't we?" he asked his friend softly instead.

_He knew Godric! Godric was a kind man, a little bit gullible and sometimes too ready to accept a story as truth, but still a kind man…_

"Because of the stories! Haven't you heard what kind of horrible monsters they are?"

Those words were like a punch in Sal's gut.

_Monsters._

_His gentle, good hearted Atr._

_His every freezing but loving Grandma._

_His soft spoken Grandpa._

_His wonderful son._

_Monsters._

"How do you know that they are monsters?" he asked his voice still gentle.

Over the last years the aversion towards purebloods had strengthened, especially since there were year after year reports of cruel murders by a pureblood on the continent. Sal had tried to keep an eye on it but even with his reprimands a lot of children had started to speak about purebloods as if they were monsters – if they didn't call them monsters outright.

"Because the stories said so, Salazar," Godric replied. "And I won't endanger the children by allowing purebloods at Haugh's Wards. There will never be purebloods there ever!"

"You have no say in that, Godric," Sal returned coolly and swept away. He knew he should have confronted his friend. He knew he should have talked to the man but instead he was unable to even look at the man in question. It wasn't even the first time he had heard Godric saying something like that and until now he had reprimanded his friend sharply. But today had been different.

_Monsters._

He didn't know why and when Godric also had started to adopt the current stance against Firbolgs or purebloods like they were called now. He just knew that his friend had. Sal often wondered if it was simply a problem of Godric not truly knowing about Firbolgs.

_Maybe if he knew…_

Sal shook his head and instead opted to do what he always did in the last months when he was agitated by the bigotry around him and unable to fight against it any longer: he vanished in the seventh floor where he and Peverell were experimenting with magic.

They had started their experiments after that day on the lake and had since then hidden a room away so that no one other would stumble over their experiments. Well, at least it had been a room at the beginning; Sal wasn't quite sure what to call the construct now, after it had been thoroughly imbedded with rune chains and circles as well as some blood magic and experimental potions.

And it definitely hadn't just been Sal who had done the work. Peverell was the leader behind the project, Sal just the one who visualise what Peverell dreamt up.

A little bit more, so Peverell, and then they would activate it. Sal just hoped they wouldn't blow up the castle while doing so…

Unbeknown to them sometime in the future the Room would become a legend. The Come and Go Room, they would call it. The Room of Requirement.

Until then it just would be one thing to Sal: a room where he could vent his frustration with Godric and his suddenly bigoted apprentices.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was three weeks later and Salvazsahar was teaching potions – the potion teacher Godric had hired was nothing but sloppy and unhelpful. If Sal would have had any say the man would have left Haugh's Wards years ago but the others insisted that he was a splendid teacher and objected every time Sal brought it up – when it happened.

The wards Sal knew so well, started to hum with life. A refugee had found their way to Haugh's Wards.

Sal stood up from where he sat and then looked over his class to see how far along they were with their potion. The most of them were done.

_Good._

"Five more minutes," he said. And then waited until even the last student had left the classroom before he closed it down and headed to the small hut he had built outside for those who came as refugees.

The sight he met was nothing he had expected. It was a herd of centaurs, not just men and women but children as well, standing warily in front of the hut, waiting. It was one of the newer protections of the castle that led the refugees to the hut and gave them the impression to wait there until they were welcomed.

And as always it had to be Sal who welcomed them, after all he was the lord of the land, even if his ancestral home had turned in an academia over time.

Sal stopped within a slight distance and then bowed.

"I bid you a good day, strangers," he greeted them softly. "I am Salvazsahar Emrys, the lord of the land. Welcome to my home."

The centaurs definitely didn't seem to know what to make of him. Finally one grim and old looking centaur stepped forward, his keen eyes never leaving Sal's lithe form.

"I am Morowen, Salvazsahar Emrys," he said. "Tell me, lord of the land, will you also chase us away from this land?"

Sal frowned.

"Chase you away?" he asked uncomprehending. "My home is a sanctuary for everyone who needs it – so tell me, why should I send you away?"

The centaurs traded nervous glances but Morowen just looked at him coolly.

"Because that is what sorcerers do these days to my kind," he said sneering. "They chase us from our homes and wherever we go, there is no way to escape them."

_Godric won't be happy._

"If that is what they are doing, you are welcome to live on my lands," Sal said. He knew that Rowena, Peverell and Helga wouldn't object and he definitely had no interest in even asking Godric. "Just be aware that we have a lot of children here, so please don't be hostile towards them even if they might act hostile towards you at first."

Morowen stared at him.

"You know we count to the purebloods, don't you?" he finally asked Sal, disbelieve colouring his voice. It seemed as if his herd had met too many hostile sorcerers to not be wary around him.

Sal just shrugged.

"I am a pureblood myself," he said. "Well, mixed-born pureblood, but pureblood nonetheless."

The leader of the herd – Sal was sure that Morowen was exactly that – bowed his head after hearing that and then turned to look at the rest of his herd. Whatever silent communication took place, Sal did not know, but when Morowen turned back to him he could see the decision in the centaur's eyes.

"We would like to stay if we can," he said. "Would it be alright if we took the woods to live in?"

Sal's gaze turned to the woods at his right.

"We might have to enter for potion ingredients and hunting," he warned.

The centaur just nodded.

"We are used to share the woods with sorcerers. If you allow us to stay we even might help you with your hunts now and then."

For a moment Sal pondered those words but then he inclined his head.

"So mot it be," he said. "And be assure that I will talk to the children we teach so that they won't enter the woods without one of us adults nearby. We won't disturb you unnecessarily."

This time the centaur inclined his head, relieve clearly written in his face.

"I thank you again, lord of the land. My kinsmen and I are in your dept."

Sal didn't protest these words, it would have been an insult to the centaur if he had – at least it was in all the customs he knew and he guessed that it was the same with the centaurs' custom as well.

So instead of objecting he went with them until they reached the woods and then turned and headed back to the castle.

Godric was waiting for him in the entrance hall. It was obvious that he had overheard Sal's talk with the centaurs.

"What is the meaning of that?" Godric growled, not even trying to be quiet.

"They needed a place to stay, so they stayed," Sal answered coolly. He knew from the look on Godric's face that he would have to fight tooth and nails to bring Godric to even listen to him – but Sal knew that he couldn't back down. Somewhere he had to draw the line and frankly, he was exhausted after being belittered none stop since at least two years.

"They needed a place to stay? They needed a place to stay! That's your excuse?! Have you even thought about the children we are protecting in these walls?" Godric hissed.

"Of course I have. They are no threat to the children," Sal answered sighing.

"That's what you think, Salazar! But look at them! They are unnatural – you can see it by just looking at them! They are purebloods – they definitely have no right to be at Haugh's Wards!"

"Haugh's Wards is a sanctuary, Godric. For. Everyone." Sal hissed back, Parseltongue creeping into his voice. "They have every right to be there if they need protection!"

"Oh – and the next thing you say is that we should take in their children as apprentices!" Godric mocked icily. "I can see it right now: beast trotting all over the stairs of Haugh's Wards!"

"They are no beasts!" Sal replied harshly. "What's happening to you, Godric?! You weren't like that when I first met you!"

"Maybe I grew up!"

"Yes, in a bigot!"

"I am not a bigot!"

"You definitely are now, Godric! We are talking about children and you call them 'beasts'!"

"So I should use monsters instead?" Godric hissed furiously.

"They. Are. Children, Godric! Children!"

"They have hooves!"

"Because they are centaur children!" Sal countered. "If they were vampires they definitely wouldn't have hooves – and I would have welcomed them nonetheless!"

"Vampires?! You're telling me that if a vampire would come and ask for his brood to attend Haugh's Wards you simply would say 'yes'?!"

"Yes!"

"Then tell me what in Morgana's name are you thinking, Salazar?! Purebloods in Haugh's Wards?!" Godric cried. "I will not have any pureblood child at Haugh's Wards!"

"They are _children_, Godric!" Sal countered heatedly again. "Children like every other mixed blood! The only difference is their parentage! I will not exclude them just because they have two pure-blooded parents and not just one!"

"We will not have any children with a pureblood parent in my school!" Godric yelled. "I do not need a child who bites others or does who-knows-what with them! Purebloods are dangerous! They aren't human! You can't teach them to be humans! They are monsters!"

"Monsterssss?!" Sal repeated hissing. He knew they strayed from the original discussion but maybe it was long overdue to be frank with Godric. "Monsterssss?! How dare you!"

"How dare _you_!" Godric yelled. "Do you have any idea what Peverell and I would lose if it came out that we took in pure-blooded children? We would be socially ruined!"

"Fine! Then throw them all out! If you do not want the pure-blooded children here then I don't want the mixed blooded in Haugh's Wards! Their blood is dirty after all!" Not that he really meant that statement, but he couldn't stop himself. The resentment had festered over the last few years and he couldn't stop now, even if he wanted to.

"You!" Godric shouted and drew his sword. "How dare you to insult our apprentices!"

"I. Do. Not. Care!" Sal hissed. "They insult me all the time! Why should I care if I insult them this time! They are exactly like you! I bore your insulting words long enough! I do_ not_ care anymore! I give up in trying to change your ways! So just shut up!"

"What are you talking about?!" Godric yelled. "I definitely don't insult you! Why should I?!"

"You don't insult me?! _You_ don't insult me?!" Sal hissed. "You call me a monster all the time – and you tell me you don't insult me?! You call my son a monster! My father! My grandparents! And now you tell me _you don't insult me_?! Try again – this monster is not human enough to understand the words of a lowly biased wanna-be mixed blood!"

"Biased wanna-be mixed blood?!" Godric repeated. "Are you insulting _me _now?!"

"And if I am – who cares?!" Sal countered. "I definitely don't mind telling you the truth to your face if I have to!"

"The truth?! The truth?! What truth?!"

"The truth you don't want to see!" Sal hissed. "Just take a look at our apprentices! They might be good – but they would be better if they could learn from pureblood children some different ways to use their…"

"I. Will. Not. Have. A. Pureblood. In. My. House!" Godric yelled.

"Fine! Then they will be in mine! I don't care! If I have to then I will reject the mixed blooded ones and just take purebloods!"

"You sound as if you think your apprentices weren't worth your time just because they are mixed blood!"

"I just said that they could benefit from a pureblood along the way!" Sal countered. "Purebloods know things that a mixed blood never…"

Godric's sword pressed against Sal's throat. A single red tear rolled down to Sal's collarbone.

"I never thought you would be such a biased little piece of…!"

"Godric!"

Godric stopped midsentence and looked up. At the top of the stairs stood Helga, looking at them with huge, frightened eyes.

"Helga! Godric… what's going on?!" Peverell stopped behind his wife, staring at the scene in front of him. "Godric… why do you have your sword at Salazar's throat?"

"Because I have put up long enough with his biased ways of thinking!" Godric said enraged.

"_My _biased ways of thinking?!_ My_?!" Sal hissed. "Until now I never mentioned any kind of bias! How _dare_ you to accuse_ me_ if you are the one who looks at a child and sees a monster?! When you are the one who looks at _my son_ and sees a monster?!"

"Your son? _Your son_?! I never met your son!"

The blade edged deeper in Sal's throat but he didn't move an inch. He did not even show them the pain he felt – physically and emotionally.

"No," he said in a low voice. "You never met him. But you call him a monster anyway!"

"Why should I call your_ son_ a monster?" this time Godric definitely looked confused, his rage dimmed by the new emotion.

"I don't know! I never thought you to be the biased kind either! So, tell me, Godric… why do suddenly you call_ me_ a monster?!"

Peverell and Helga gasped.

"You did…?! Godric, why?!" Helga said, staring at her confused looking brother.

"Hu? But… I didn't! Why should I call you a monster?!" he said, lowering his sword a little so that it was resting on Sal's shoulder.

Sal just stared at the man in front of him, still feeling furious and absolutely hurt.

"I don't know. All I know is that you did! You called me a monster to my face. You called my father, my grandparents and _my son_ a monster to my face! And you ask me why_ I_ would be furious with you?!"

"I would never…! This whole discussion was about purebloods and pure-blooded children in Haugh's Wards! That discussion wasn't about you or your family!"

"Well, news-flash, Godric! I am a pureblood! My father was a pureblood! My grandparents were! _My son_ is! I might be a mixed born pureblood but a pureblood nonetheless! I never thought you would think of me as a creature unable to behave human!" and with that Sal turned and stormed out of the castle. He needed space. He definitely needed space and a time away from Godric.

He had endured enough for today.

"I cannot believe you told him he is not human enough to be considered such!" Helga said, staring at her brother with accusing eyes. "Pray that he will forgive you – because if he doesn't I will throw you out of Haugh's Wards without a second thought!" She turned and left from where she came from.

"But…" Godric said. "But… I thought… I never thought that a pureblood could be so normal… I mean the stories… I… I…"

"You are a fool, Godric," Peverell said sighing. "How can you be imbecilic enough to believe in fairy tales…?"

"But… but…" Godric stared at Peverell helplessly.

"Don't you dare to try and find comfort in me or Rowena! After all – I am a _pureblood_ as well. And from the sound of it I am nothing more than a wild beast in your eyes…!"

And with that he left, leaving Godric standing in the entrance hall, looking lost, helpless and weighted down by his own guilt.

That was the day Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. Sorry it took so long. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	35. Chapter 34: A Riddle Recovered

_**Sorry for the wait. I had exams and was on holidays afterward. And sorry if it's the wrong Harry for you. I know a lot of you had some critique with the end of the last chapter. All I will say to your questions for now is that I wrote "Salazar Slytherin" and not "Salvazsahar Emrys" for a reason.**_

_**Ebenbild**_

_**xXx**_

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_This chapter is at the moment un-beta-ed._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**A Riddle Recovered**

sss

When Harry finally returned to the common room it was long dark outside and curfew had been so long ago that even the most daring students had found themselves in the safety of the tower long before Harry had even gone near it.

Harry was fuming. In the Headmaster's office he might have given up on arguing with the man but as soon as he had entered the Room of Requirement and with that had left Dumbledore's territory, Harry's fury had returned tenfold. It wasn't the prospect of having to learn Occlumency _again_ that left him burning with rage but the knowledge that someone had tattled on the Headmaster.

And someone had. It wasn't a guess, Harry _knew_.

If someone hadn't the Headmaster might have been suspicious – _would_ have been suspicious – but he wouldn't have had enough evidence to be sure about that.

And now Harry had Occlumency lessons with Snape of all people!

As if Harry hadn't enough on his plate already!

So Harry had gone to the Room of Requirement and had worked out until he was soaked in sweat and tired enough to drop dead – just to return to the common room and seeing Hermione and Ron waiting for him on one of the sofas.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed when she saw him enter. "Where have you been?"

Harry's first, instinctive reaction was to sneer at her and tell her she had no right to know. But then he stopped. Of course, Hermione had no right to know. She might be a friend but not his mother, on the other hand she _was_ his friend and as a friend she at least had the right to ask.

"Running," Harry answered after contemplating his answer. "I needed to clear my head."

Hermione blinked at his answer, surprise visible in her eyes but it was Ron who told them the obvious. "Harry," he said. "You never ran before when you needed to clear your head."

Harry just sighed and decided that he wouldn't go anywhere until his friends were satisfied with his answer so he plunked down on the sofa next to theirs.

"I didn't have my broom with me and I needed to get out," he said tiredly.

"Harry," this time Hermione's voice sounded hesitant. "What happened?" She stopped for a moment, then continued with a stronger, surer sounding voice. "I know you had detention with Umbridge tonight but what happened afterwards? I mean – she didn't _keep_ you until now, did she?"

Harry was just in time to repress his sneer.

"No," he said, his own voice icy. "The Headmaster called afterwards for a little… chat." His eyes first fixed on Hermione, then on Ron. Hermione and Ron shared a glance and suddenly Harry knew. The fury he had worked of just minutes ago, returned in all its glory. It had been those two in front of him who went to the Headmaster!

"Do you want to tell me something, maybe?" he asked coolly.

"I don't know what-"

"Don't play innocent with me," Harry hissed and the fury he had felt before returned to the open for a moment before he was able to suppress it again. "Someone," he looked from Hermione to Ron and back while he held his temper in check. "Went to Dumbledore and told him that… maybe that I was acting strange or that I changed my behavior with Malfoy or Snape or that I was doing better in a class I hated, who knows! Whatever Dumbledore was told, it gave him the idea that I needed Snape to teach me Occlumency! Now tell me, was it you two who tattled on me?"

The ice of his fury was bleeding in his voice at the end of his tale.

Ron gawked at him.

Hermione looked guilty.

"Harry," she finally said hesitatingly.

"No!" he interrupted her coolly. "No, Hermione! I don't care what you told him, I just care that you did!"

"But, Harry! You are acting strange! You-"

"Then why didn't you come to me?" Harry asked her when the fury he felt left him. Of course, those two in front of him were still children, and children made mistakes, but that didn't excuse their actions. "Why did you run to Dumbledore instead of asking me?"

"Because you wouldn't have told us!" Ron interrupted him. Ron's face was turning red and he was clearly losing his temper. "You never tell us the important things! You just clam up and say nothing! Like last year in the Tournament! Like in second year the Parseltongue! Like-"

"I. Do. Not. Clam. Up!" Harry hissed, the slight hisses of the snake language started to caress his words, adding the musical sound of his native tongue to the spoken English. "I was Muggle-raised, Ron! I did_ not _know about Parseltongue being special! And I definitely did_ not _clam up at the Tournament! You, Ron, were the one who refused to speak to me because you thought I had entered myself in this stupid Tournament! Neither of you ever asked me directly about anything! You just want me to come to you and tell you everything and if I don't you run to the next teacher you can find!"

"That's not true!" Hermione said with huge eyes. "You always refuse to listen! Like the time Sirius send you the Firebolt!"

"And did you ever try to explain to me why you thought the Firebolt was dangerous, Hermione?" Harry asked her softly. "Did you ever share your reason with me before you ran to Professor McGonagall?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but instead made the imitation of a gold fish.

"Well, Hermione?" Harry had leaned forward and looked at her with old, cool and tired eyes.

She blinked and then blurted out. "But the Firebolt could have been dangerous!"

"Yes," Harry said. "But you could have told me your reasons before you went and ran to a teacher. You could have talked to me – just like you could have talked to me before you ran to Dumbledore this time around!"

"But… but you were acting strange! With Malfoy! With Snape! And you didn't talk to us like you usually did!" Ron said furiously.

"That might be right," Harry said. "But you simply could have told me that you were worried about me and ask me what is wrong!"

"I asked you what is bothering you and you told me you were fine!" Hermione retorted.

"Yes, you asked me what is _bothering_ me! Have you ever thought that that was the _wrong _question to ask? Have you ever thought that you should have simply asked me why I was different than you knew me? I cannot read your mind! How by wind and fire should I know what you are worried about?"

Hermione's mouth snapped shut.

She stared at him with huge, unbelieving eyes.

"But… but…" Ron stuttered.

"No, Ron!" Harry said coolly. "Just once, Ron, think about how you would feel if you had a nightmare one night and instead of leaving it be I'd run to your mum and wake her up just to tell on you. Tell me, would you like that?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, congratulation! You just did the same to me! You might not have run to my mum but to a teacher, but the principle in the end is the same. _You_. Tattled. On. Me! So excuse me if I won't talk to you for the next days! I need to calm down."

And with that Harry stood and left the room, leaving two guilt ridden teenagers behind.

Of course, Harry knew that the other two were still teens and because of that made more mistakes than they would have made otherwise. But that was no excuse. Harry wouldn't go easy on them because they still hadn't learned that the world was a cruel place. Some things you had to learn when you were young – and one of those was that you shouldn't go behind another ones back, especially if this person was your friend. It was alright to worry, but the first approach had always to be the person you worried about and not an authority figure.

Maybe they would learn in time.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was Saturday morning and Augusta Longbottom was sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for the one man she had always admired.

"Good morning, Augusta," Augusta Longbottom turned fluently – in absolute contrast to her age – and had drawn her wand faster than most people were able to react.

Regrettably the other party wasn't 'most people' and so she had lost her wand as soon as she drew it.

She stared at the man with in surprise, but still ready to defend herself, even without her wand. The man instead just smiled at her and rounded the table to sit down in the chair on the opposite of her table. Her wand was set down on the table and rolled back to her.

"Who…?" she started to say, but then she stopped mid-sentence. She knew who. Those deathly green eyes were one of a kind.

"Professor," she greeted, still baffled how the young boy in front of her could be the same man who had taught her Ancient Runes when she was still a student at Hogwarts. But he had known her and had answered her letter with knowledge that no one but the professor ever had. Knowledge that he wouldn't have shared, not even with his own sons or grandsons.

"Augusta Selwyn," the young man answered smiling, recognition in his eyes. "Longbottom it was now?"

She nodded, still flabbergasted.

"How… how do you look so young?" she finally asked him with huge eyes. The answer was a well-known, kind smile, a smile she still remembered even after more than a hundred years.

The professor hesitated for a short moment before he sighed.

"The answer is not as simple as I'd like it to be," he said. "Let's just say it's a family secret."

Augusta blinked.

"A family secret," she repeated and the man in front of her smiled.

"Let's look for a more secure place and I might tell you a bit more," was the reply.

So Augusta Longbottom did what a Gryffindor would do. She stood up, took her wand and followed the man.

They left the Leaky Cauldron and when the man held out her arm for her, she slipped her hand in his. In the next moment she could feel the typical pressure of being apparated and when she could see again, they stood in a window-less, dark room. On the wall was a crest: a silver snake, wrapped around a white lily on a light-green grounding.

She turned to the professor and raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the crest on the wall. The answer was a laugh.

"The family's crest," he said. "I am afraid I won't be able to tell you what family it stands for."

"You can't tell me…?"

"It's the crest of a Grand family," he replied. "I will return to the Wizengamot."

The answer was a shudder.

"You want to return to politics?"

The smile was anything but reassuring Augusta contemplated when the man in front of her looked at her.

"Maybe," he said and she knew he meant 'yes'.

And for Augusta there was just one road to take now.

"What do I have to do to be part of your scheme, whatever you're scheming, Professor Malfoire?"

The professor looked at her.

"Why do you ask, Augusta?" he said.

She smiled and shrugged.

"I remember your reputation when I was a child," she said. "You were ruthless. You were feared and admired. I always wanted to be like you. Do you truly think I would give up an opportunity to work with my childhood idol?"

The answer was a surprised laugh.

"Don't laugh at me, Professor," Augusta said. "I meant it."

"I know you did," the boy said smiling. "I just wasn't expecting it."

"I wasn't the only one who admired you," Augusta defended herself. "Charlus Potter was at least as taken with you as I was. You were his absolute hero, the one man who couldn't do anything wrong. Believe me if Albus Dumbledore and you would have been born at the same time, Albus would have never become as great as he did. He would have never gained the influence he has now if you still had been there when his star started to raise."

The professor just smiled.

"I'm no hero, Augusta," he said still smiling. "I would have never fought against Grindelwald like he did."

Augusta just snorted.

"Then tell me that you didn't all you could to fight him at the time he was a danger."

The professor opened his mouth, but Augusta didn't even let him reply before she tattled on.

"I don't know where you were. I don't know what you did, but I know that you did everything you could to shield the innocent."

"That doesn't count," he said, Augusta just snorted.

"Just keep telling you that."

Silence.

Then she sighed and shook her head.

"Will you explain to me how you can look like a child even if you are older than I?"

The professor shrugged.

"I'm a Firbolg-born," he said. "The son of an _Olde_ one. I don't age like… normal wizards do."

"A Firbolg-born?" the word was foreign to Augusta.

"The grandson of a basilisk," he said and looked at her with deathly green eyes. "I'm not human."

Augusta blinked in surprise – well, a part of her was surprised; another part of her had long since understood that he couldn't be a normal wizard like everyone else. He just had always been too different for that.

"And yet you belong to a Grand Family."

The professor shrugged.

"I was its founder," he said and smiled at her. She gawked at him and then decided she wouldn't be surprised by anything he told her anymore…

"What are you planning?"

The professor crooked his head.

"Interested in destroying the world like you know it now?" he asked her. "Interested in destroying the powerbase of the greatest and the most feared wizard in our time? Interested in rearranging our world to something no one would ever have dreamed of?"

"You aren't planning those things. That isn't like you, Professor," Augusta replied. The answer was a smirk that would have had her running if it would have truly been aimed at her.

"I never said I wanted to do exactly that," the professor said.

"So what are you doing?"

The answer was a shrug.

"Someone messed with me," he replied and Augusta shuddered. "Will you be my ally?"

_Revenge._

_He was out for revenge._

There was just one thing Augusta could do to answer that question.

"What do you need?" she said.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Alastor Moody was in a bad mood.

His target was gone. Gone. As in not there. As in vanished from Hogwarts.

If he could just prove that that was actually the case. If he could prove that the lad had left Hogwarts on his own and had apparated somewhere, Moody would have had all the evidence he needed. To his utter regret he had come too late to Hogwarts to see his… victim leave.

So instead of following his target he was kicking stones through the grass, swearing.

If he just could prove that the lad really had left Hogwarts and wasn't hiding somewhere Moody didn't know!

Again he kicked a little stone and the stone vanished into the woods of the Forbidden Forest.

"Stupid insomniac child," Moody grumbled. "Imbecilic hiding Slytherin in Gryffindor robes!"

A little black cat looked up at that and scrutinized the swearing Auror with its cold, grey eyes. It had been sun-bathing in the last warmth of autumn until a little stone had hit its back and woken it.

"Damn brat!" and with that the Auror turned and decided to use his time to do other things he wanted to do.

The cat stood up and followed him until he left the grounds and apparated. Then the cat turned and returned with a huff to Hogwarts.

_Stupid paranoid Ex-Aurors!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was late evening on the same Saturday when Arthur Weasley and his two eldest sons arrived in the same room Augusta Longbottom had been apparated at in the early morning.

Arthur looked nervously around the room. It was empty – at least it was until a hidden door opened and another man entered.

In the next moment Arthur corrected himself.

Not a man. A boy.

A boy, not much older than his youngest son.

"Welcome, my kin," the boy greeted them.

Arthur blinked surprised; then he decided to be better safe than sorry and bowed to the boy. His sons followed his lead.

"Head of House," he greeted in return.

The answer was a soft smile.

"I don't insist on formality in informal settings," he said. "You may call me Salvazsahar – or Sal if you have trouble with my name."

"Salvazsahar will be fine, my Lord," Arthur answered and relaxed. He had never been good with the customs of purebloods – one of the reasons his family had been labeled as blood-traitors. "Please feel free to call me Arthur." Then he pointed at his sons. "These are my heir, William, called Bill and my second born Charles, called Charlie."

The other one nodded in acceptance and then gestured to a few seats in the corner.

"Let's sit down before we will start our discussion."

Arthur, Bill and Charlie followed.

It was Bill who spoke as soon as they had sat down.

"Tell me, my Lord, what do you want with us?"

Arthur looked a little bit unhappy at his son. The question might have been true, but there were definitely better ways to phrase it.

But instead of feeling insulted, the boy in front of them laughed.

"I didn't choose to send you the message because I want to use you for anything, Heir Weasley," he said. "I choose you because you are family and you have the right to choose if you want associate with those you belong to in blood."

"You have to be very ambitious if you want to recreate a Grand Family. People like that normally choose exactly what kind of people they want to have in their family and what kind they don't want. And normally they look for powerful allies or people they can use for their own benefit," Bill answered coolly. "So forgive me if I don't believe you."

The answer was again a laugh.

"I'll send my invitation to the family to every direct descendant. I wouldn't have considered the Weasley's as they are first cousins if it hadn't been for Molly Weasley, nee Prewett. As she is the last of the Prewetts I decided to invite the Weasleys even if they are not as closely related as the rest I am inviting," the boy answered. "Of course the consequences are that I have also to invite another family, so that they can't protest the invite."

"Excuse me?" Charlie asked surprised. "What has inviting our family to do with inviting the other family?"

Salvazsahar shrugged.

"They are cousins to the Weasleys and the Grand Family," he answered casually. "At the same time they are closely related to me. So you could say that they are as closely related as the Weasleys, so when I am inviting you, I will have to invite them. I don't mind. I don't like the current British Head of the Branch Family I am talking about but they could be useful for me."

"So you selected us because of our use. What use would you get from us?" Bill said coolly. Arthur wanted to slap his boy for his rude tone.

Salvazsahar just shrugged.

"It is in my nature to consider the use of those people I associate with," he said unimpressed. "To be straight forward: the value I see in your family would be a curse-breaker, a dragon-tamer, a ministry worker three more potentially promising children, two genius pranksters and a trained researcher. That is the value you bring and that is the value I seek. Nothing more, nothing less."

The three Weasleys gawked at him.

"And if we join the family, what would you have us do?" Arthur finally asked, giving up on customs. His sons had broken them way before and their potential Head of House didn't seem to mind.

The boy shrugged.

"Whatever you do now," he said. "Of course there are things I would forbid you to do or things I would encourage you to learn but mostly I'm interested in keeping your family exactly like it is now."

Charlie's eyes narrowed.

"So what are the rules you expect us to follow?" he asked.

Salvazsahar shrugged again.

"Unity of the Grand Family in public. You can hate each other all you like when you're in private, as long as you are in public you stand behind family."

A reasonable demand, Arthur thought.

"I also would expect you all submit to a health test. You will be tested for potions or spells."

Nothing to object there, even if it would be embarrassing.

"Another rule would be that all of you learn to Occlude your mind. It will help against possession, compulsion charms or Imperius. This is not negotiable on my side."

This time it was Bill who nodded in understanding. The goblins also insisted on the same safety measurements. They definitely were a good way to keep the whole family safe.

"And lastly, the family comes first. I don't care what you believe. I don't care if you're light or dark. But I care if you decide to follow another man like little ducklings, unable to think for yourselves. If you join my family, your loyalty will be with your family. You might admire someone else – someone like Albus Dumbledore or Fudge or whoever – but you won't follow them blindly. The family comes first. Work with them, admire them for all I care, but you will always think what your actions will do to the family name."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. It would be different than before. Until now he had always looked up at Dumbledore but if he truly considered following this Grand Family then he would have to look at the man with critical eyes.

"What about You-Know-Who?" Charlie asked. "Would you be as lenient if we decided to join him?"

This time the Head of the House hesitated before he sighed.

"I am not light," he said softly. "The Grand Family won't be light. And if it had been any other Dark Lord – Grindelwald, Morrigan, whoever – I wouldn't care if you admire him, at least not to a certain extent. I wouldn't like it if you'd follow him and if you'd kill people because of him, but I wouldn't mind it because you're dark but because you are doing the wrong thing. Life is precious. As long as you don't endanger life I don't care at all. Except Tom Riddle. I'd care if you follow him. If you do and are unwilling to give up your alliance with him, I would never accept you in my family. Joining him might have been a mistake you made, but if you don't want to correct it, I won't have you in my family, remember that."

Charlie blinked astonished.

"Wait! You're saying we could be followers of Grindelwald as far as you care, and you wouldn't mind as long as we don't kill for him – but we can't follow Voldemort even if we don't kill for him? Why?"

The answer was a snarl.

"Simple," the boy-Head of House said. "Because he is Tom Marvolo Riddle. He is a lying bastard, using everyone for his own benefit and doesn't allow people to stand aside. You're either for him or against him – not speaking of his deeds against this family."

"Deeds against this family?" Bill asked astonished. "What deeds are you talking about?"

The answer was another snarl.

"Like I see it, he is at fault for the murder of some of our family members. Even if you don't accept your part in this family, I will still count the Prewett family to my family – and I don't accept allies who killed family members."

This time Arthur felt his tears threatening to fall. He knew that Molly was still hurt after losing her brothers and that the Prewett part was accepted by this unknown Grand Family and not only accepted but also one of the reasons to refuse Voldemort – that was more and better than they had expected.

"But you will still accept dark wizards as family members if they follow these rules?" Charlie asked in that moment.

Death green eyes looked at them gravely.

"I'm going to," he answered.

"You're going to?" Bill asked softly. "As in, there are families you asked that are dark?"

"…Yes."

Arthur, Bill and Charlie looked at each other.

"May we ask who?" Bill finally said.

The boy sighed.

"This Grand-Family vanished when the three heirs of the family changed their names to escape prosecution," he finally said. "One family kept the new name they had chosen for themselves, the others married in two families who had women as their heirs."

"So we're talking about the reunion of three families?" Arthur asked softly.

"Five," Salvazsahar corrected. "The main family later split again when two other sons married the female heirs of lesser families."

"So, what families are we talking about?"

The answer was a grim smile.

"We're talking about a dark, two neutral and two light families, one of the light ones are the Prewetts, the other one the Longbottoms. And of course there is the little problem with the kin-family I will have to contact because I contacted you. This family will also be dark."

Bill frowned.

"You won't be able to get them all to join you. Normally light and dark do not mix and the neutrals are neutral for a reason…"

Salvazsahar just shrugged.

"So you won't join because of the possibility that dark or neutral families will be part of the family?" he asked them.

Arthur's mind was reeling. This was THE question. The one question he had been waiting for since the beginning of their meeting.

Arthur knew that he wouldn't get more answers today. Salvazsahar had said what he wanted and what he could. Now Arthur had to accept or decline the offer.

Like the Longbottoms had, Arthur had no illusion that the naming of said family meant that they said yes. You couldn't name a family who hadn't declared its standing to that point of time.

So there was just one thing Arthur knew: two dark and two neutral families might still join the family. Two dark. Would he be able to accept a dark family as relations?

But then, Arthur and his family could finally be part of a family, could be shielded against those who looked down on them – but there was the chance that they had to work together with the likes of Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and McNair. But then, whoever would be part of the family wouldn't be a Death Eater – or at least a Death Eater any longer…

So there was just the little problem that they might have to work together with former Death Eaters. Albus Dumbledore wouldn't be happy.

It was that thought that stopped his thought process and made him grimace. Was that what he had become in the last years? A lackey of Dumbledore, solely worrying about pleasing the old man?

Yes, Albus Dumbledore had the right idea.

Yes, it was a good idea to follow him and fight against the Death Eaters and Voldemort.

But Dumbledore was not responsible for their family, like Bill had told him when the letter arrived. It was Arthur's choice. Solely Arthur's – well, and maybe the choice of his heirs.

Arthur looked at his sons. Both of them looked grim and determined. He could see in their faces that they had thought about what they had learned. He looked at them inquiringly.

Bill nodded softly at his father, a second later Charlie did the same.

_And Dumbledore?_

_Was not his keeper._

"No," Arthur said finally. "We don't mind if the families in this Grand Family are light, neutral or dark."

Again Arthur took a steady breath. And then he leaped over the cliff and hoped Salvazsahar would catch him before he fell to his death. Metaphorically, of course…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Hullo, Tom!"

Tom, the innkeeper, of course – not the Dark Lord, said man would have killed anyone who even dared to utter said name in front of him – looked up from polishing his glasses.

"Xeno," he greeted the man in front of him.

"I've the next edition of my paper," Xeno said and Tom took out the money pouch he kept behind his counter and gave it to Xeno. The money was from the sales of the last paper. Tom sold them and then gave Xeno his share of the money when the man came with the next edition of his newspaper.

"There's an article from Twist in it?" Tom asked interested.

Xeno just nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I asked him to be a columnist for my newspaper after all."

"I need more of your papers today," Tom said as an answer. "They were gone just hours after you brought them the last time around."

Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of _The Quibbler_, just stared at him in surprise. Then he nodded slowly.

"Of course," he said. "I always knew that the two-nosed unicorn would interest a lot of people…"

Tom said nothing to that, wisely.

"So, how many do you want?"

For a moment Tom contemplated his options then he shrugged with his shoulders and decided to take a risk.

"Triple it," he said. It was a risk, but a small one with Twist.

Xeno just looked at him oddly, but finally nodded and did as he was told.

As soon as Xeno was gone, Tom risked a glance at the article of Twist.

_Ouch._

That _definitely would sell…_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The next week was a tense affair between the Golden Trio. Harry had made true of his statement and had stopped speaking to Ron and Hermione. Instead of sitting with them in the Great Hall, he sat with Neville.

The quiet boy said nothing to that for the first three days, but a day later at lunch he finally cracked.

"Harry?" he asked hesitatingly. "What happened between you and Ron and Hermione?"

Harry shrugged.

"They decided to go to Dumbledore instead of talking it over with me," Harry answered shrugging. "I won't talk to them until they understand that what they did is wrong."

Neville blinked at that.

"Oh," he said, stopped, but then pressed on. "Why did they think they had to go to Dumbledore? I mean, what did you do?"

Harry shrugged again.

"They think I act different than I did last year," he answered sincerely.

This time Neville frowned.

"Well, you_ do_ act different," he finally said nervously. "You don't antagonize Malfoy and Snape anymore, you know potions and you are friendly with the Slytherins."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"So you will also go to Dumbledore because of that?" he asked the timid boy coolly.

Neville snorted.

"No," he said. "But I would like to know what happened to change you that much." Then his eyes widened and he hastily added. "Just if you want to tell me, that is!"

Harry just smiled.

"I learned about some things I never knew," he answered softly. "Like my heritage and my status in the wizarding world. I simply cannot continue to act like I did, now that I learned about it. It wouldn't do me any good – especially when I enter the Wizengamot."

"So you're planning to enter full time?" Neville asked him interested. "I thought you might want to keep the proxy you had until now, I mean, that's what the most of us do who are still at school."

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know who my proxy is at the moment," he said sighing. "I was never told anything about my seat in the Wizengamot by anyone until now. If my proxy did not approach me when I returned to the wizarding world, do you really think he still has the right to call himself my proxy? He should have met with me years ago and not continue to vote in my stead without even asking me what I want!"

This Neville definitely could not object.

"So you're taking on your seat full time," he concluded.

Harry shrugged.

"We'll see," he said. "There are still some variables I have to calculate before I decide."

Neville blinked at that.

"You know you will lose political clout if you don't go to the first Wizengamot meeting next term," he said, watching his friend closely. Harry shrugged.

"I know," he answered Neville's inquire. "But the truth is I still don't know how I should do it. After all officially I still have no idea about my heritage."

"Then how…?"

The answer was a smirk.

"There's a secret in my family," Harry answered him, still smirking. "A secret not even Dumbledore knows."

"What has that to do with you knowing…?"

"Simple. The secret has to do with the goblins. And goblins never break their word."

Neville shuddered when he heard that. Harry of course was right. A goblin never broke its word – but they were deceiving little things who would do anything to have the advantage. That Harry's family secret was with the goblins could mean just one thing: They would have done anything to share it with Harry if that was what they had been asked to do. No wonder Harry knew about his responsibilities…

"So the goblins told you," Neville concluded, still shuddering. Harry shrugged.

"Something like that," he answered the timid boy. After that answer, Neville decided not to ask any further. He knew better than to pry into the secrets of another family, after all.

"So what are you planning to do today?" he decided to ask instead.

Harry smiled.

That was the moment the morning post arrived and with it the next edition of _The Quibbler_.

Hogwarts wouldn't have a peaceful day today.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The Leaky Cauldron was full. The people inside stepped on each other's toe, all of them talking to their neighbours with hushed voices and huge eyes.

Tom was standing behind his counter, looking over the crowd, watching.

The people were discussing an article in the newspaper heatedly.

Not an article in the _Daily Prophet_, no, an article in _The Quibbler_.

Since Xenophilius Lovegood had come by this morning and had brought his batch of newspapers, the Leaky Cauldron had been filled with people discussing Oliver Twist and the article he had written this time.

The most important word in the discussion?

Riddle.

Tom could hear it everywhere.

Riddle, here, riddle there.

Yes, the people were discussing Twist's article.

"Do you think Twist's right and the ministry wants to slander the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Definitive. That's the ministry for you. They don't want to hear something and so they disgrace whoever told them the truth. It's the same like last time. I bet there was someone telling them about the Death Eaters and their deeds. And did they do anything? No, they just stick their head in the ground and hope whatever is their problem will vanish on its own!"

"And then Riddle…"

On and on the discussion continued. Sometimes people were calling comments to each other through the whole room. Sometimes they would whisper in each other's ears.

Tom just snorted when he heard some of the comments.

He finally shook his head and decided to read the article again.

It was the work of a master.

Yes, this article definitively had to be acknowledged by reading it at least a second time…

xXx

_**THERE'S A RIDDLE IN THE WORLD – IT'S CALLED HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED**_

_**Facts and Fiction about You-know-who's (maybe) return to the living**_

_Hogwarts has started again – and with it the typical rumor-mill that graces the halls of Hogwarts. "Detention, Mr. Potter for spreading lies about You-Know-Who!" I just wonder what lies he has spread, because according to those who were present when the detention was given to our famous Boy-Who-Lived, said boy never stated anything about the return of the darkest Dark Lord since Grindelwald._

"_He was at his Muggle-relation's home," I heard one of the fifth years repeating after class. "He never mentioned You-Know-Who neither in the past summer, nor in class."_

_And yet he was given detention for spreading lies about the return of You-Know-Who by the new Defence Teacher of Hogwarts, Dolores J. Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary of Minister Cornelius Fudge himself. And I asked myself "why?"_

_The only thing I can think of is that the ministry wants to break our beloved hero. Just look at it: they slandered a minor over the whole summer – a minor who was at that time living at his Muggle-relations and because of that unable to renounce the ministry's claim. Then there was the trial – a trial that was nothing more but a shame to our own laws; and now this._

_So why? Is it because the ministry fears he is right? Is it because the ministry knows he is right and refuses to believe him? Or is the eluded Senior Undersecretary this time working on her own device?_

_I don't know, and I don't care. What I care about are facts. Hard facts that will tell you the truth._

_So, let's go to the facts. Maybe we'll find out whom to believe and whom to disregard._

_One of the facts I've already mentioned before: why using Peter Pettigrew for your claim if you have Sirius Black on the run and everyone knows that Pettigrew is dead?_

_Others I haven't thought about until I decided to enter into this discussion: What happened to Cedric Diggory? We know he died – but did he die in the maze? And if he did, why was he brought back to the entrance by Harry Potter? Was Potter there when Cedric Diggory died? And if he was: why did Diggory die and not Potter? Let's face it: Diggory was a seventh year student and one of the brightest minds of our generation. Potter instead might be famous, but at that time he had just been a fourteen year old boy who was more interested in playing Quiddich than learning. So why did Diggory die? Did he rescue Potter and was killed at that time? But if he was: where is the mark of his heroism? There was nothing in the maze that would have him looking as if he was just sleeping. The only thing I know that kills without a trace is the killing-curse._

_And there's the problem. I don't think that there was anything in the maze that would operate with the killing curse. So where did it come from? Potter? You won't tell me that a fourteen-year-old will be able to perform the killing-curse. The reason I don't believe that is simple: in 'Magical Law and Theory' from Aldwin Hoppenbaecker is stated that "A wizard has to at least mature the second time to be able to perform dark spells like the Unforgivables flawlessly. Before that he would be hard pressed to perform a Curcius or an Imperius and he would be absolutely unable to perform the killing-curse." Normally a wizard matures between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. Harry Potter was neither at that time – and because of that unable to perform the killing-curse. So who did it?_

_Sirius Black? So why didn't Potter name him?!_

_Who else is there?_

_The only one who ever handed out the killing-curse like sweets in the last decades was You-Know-Who. And if it wasn't You-Know-Who, it definitely had to be someone just as bad as the infamous Dark Lord. So why doesn't the Ministry investigate? Isn't it the right of Cedric Diggory's parents to know who killed their son?_

_And if it's the deed of someone else, why does the ministry nothing to catch the killer? Is it their fear that Potter might be right and You-Know-Who's back? _

_So in the end I decided to at least take a look into this You-Know-Who business myself. You know, the simple facts: who is he, what has he done, is there a way for him to come back? _

_The questions, as simple as they seemed at first brought interesting results. _

_We are talking about 'You-Know-Who' and mean that one dark wizard who had half of Britain under his control just a decade earlier – the wizard who calls himself Lord V*. _

_Lord V* – it should have been simple to find out anything about a pure-blood lord like that. After all, we have generology books and books about the lords of the wizarding world and their power – in all those books the family names of said lords are always mentioned; easy to find, enjoyable to read. _

_In the end it came different than I thought. I simply didn't find any reliable data on him. There was nothing about him. Nothing to know, nothing that counted as reliable facts. The question I asked myself at that point was "why?"! I pondered sometime over the answer of that question until I finally found the answer I was looking for. I couldn't find anything because –it was a shock to me, but I have to confess that like maybe a lot of people in the wizarding world – I just truly DO NOT KNOW WHO he is!_

_Of course I know what he did and how he was seen by the wizarding world – but that knowledge does not tell me WHO he truly is. It just tells me what he's capable of._

_Well – there is a way to rectify this. So I started at the beginning. Everybody knows You-Know-Who's name is Lord V*. There are not many lords in this realm, so I just looked them up in my school history book in the chapter about wizarding nobility. Can you imagine how surprised I was when I did not find evidence about any Lord V*?!_

_There even never was a family V* at all. So the first fact, I have to tell you, is, that the man who brought war on us until he was stopped by Harry Potter – was a lying coward. I cannot fathom how any respectable pure-blood can follow someone who cowardly hides behind a false name – a synonym that means 'Flight from death' in French. A coward indeed. My mother's a respectable pure-blood of a French lineage. She said she would die before being called V* – being afraid of death is nothing a proper pure-blood would ever be! She told me it is against proper pure-blood behaviour to be afraid of something as natural and as connected to magic like death. I believe my mother – but if that's true, wouldn't that make You-Know-Who an uneducated mudblood? And I mean a 'mudblood' – because that is what the blood-purists call those who don't follow wizarding traditions._

_Sadly that's all guesses and there are no facts to tell me if my mother's right…_

_So I went back to scratch. There is not much known about You-Know-Who. He is a Dark Lord, he is cruel, he lies about his name and maybe his lordship – and he is the heir of Slytherin._

_This information has been whispered everywhere. It's just a rumour itself but I decided to try. I went to the goblin for this piece of information. Normally, they don't give up sensitive information like that – but there is a simple way: They are required to hand out the Great Book of Wizarding Genealogy if you ask them. The book is an edited version and does not show all heirs. There are heirs in our world that went into hiding by changing their names – they will not be listed in it. The goblins themselves have another copy where they are truly listed but I digress…_

_I looked up the lineage of Slytherin. The lineage vanished in 1651, when a daughter of the house most likely killed all the heirs and the Lord of Slytherin. The only reminding, known family member was the son of said daughter, a Gaunt. The last one who came to Gringotts to be added to the family was a Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Merope Gaunt, back in the forties or fifties. He was a half-blood, Muggle-raised orphan and attended Hogwarts in Slytherin. He vanished shortly before the rise of You-Know-Who. _

_So, let's go back to our facts: Lord V* is a liar. He lied about his name, as V* is no family name. He even maybe lied about his lordship. Then there was Tom Riddle, the last descendant of Gaunt and maybe Slytherin. The goblins denied him the title of Lord Slytherin and he never claimed the Gaunt-lordship. Tom Riddle never had a child – so there is no way that Lord V* is his son. There is also no other known living descendant of Slytherin. So how come that the liar Lord V* claims to be a pure-blood Slytherin?!_

_There are just two possibilities that could lead to the current situation: One, Lord V* is indeed a cowardice pure-blood who killed Tom Riddle, last of the Gaunt and maybe Slytherin-family and took his lineage for himself. The second, Lord V* is Tom Riddle and is lying about being a pure-blood. Either way: How can a respectable pure-blood follow someone like that?! He can't._

_So just look at it like that: even if You-Know-Who's back like Albus Dumbledore claims, there is no way that he would gain enough followers to be a threat._

_After all, I believe in the society I have been raised in – and no pure-blood lord would follow a half-blood who rejects the old name of Gaunt just to spout of a secondary name (even if it's more famous) like Slytherin who's family first carried a lordship years after the Gaunts._

_After sorting through all the facts I found, I finally realized that there is no way to decide who You-Know-Who really is. That leaves me with just one solution. I simply will not call him You-Know-Who anymore – simply because I don't know who._

_From now on he will be 'Riddle' to me. Eventually it is his real name and even if it isn't: He still is a multiple Riddle I have not solved until now: After all, I do not know who he is and I do not know if he lives – so why calling him something that is wrong? Even if he is alive – he cannot fault us for calling him a riddle when he does nothing to rectify our knowledge about him…_

_And a ban on Riddle will be a hard thing to add – after all, it's such a common word…_

_Oliver Twist_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. _

_Sorry for the wait._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	36. Chapter 35: A Teacher's Advice Apologize

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Un-beta-ex for now._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**A Teacher's Advice: Apologize!**

sss

Amelia Bones sat in her bureau, stunned in disbelieve. In her hands she still held _The Quibbler _with a death grip. Around her were scattered different kinds of papers. Some of it was of the Black-case she was working on but others were about the magical murder of the Riddle family in Little Hangleton. She had searched the archives for the name 'Riddle' after she read the papers and she still couldn't believe what she had found.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. Son of Merope Gaunt, squib daughter of Marvolo Gaunt, the last heir of the Gaunt lordship. Son of Tom Riddle, Muggle aristocrat. The one who 'found out' that Rubeus Hagird was responsible for the killing of a girl on school grounds.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, whose father and grandparents were mysteriously killed just a year later by the killing curse. Tom Marvolo Riddle, who's uncle was blamed for the murder of the Riddles even if there never had been more evidence than the odd confession the uncle gave before he was sentenced to Azkaban.

_Coincidence?_

Amelia did not believe in coincidence.

Like she was sure that it was no coincidence that the topic Oliver Twist had chosen was Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort. Her gaze returned to the article. It was a challenge to the Dark Lord and it was at the same time a way to stop people calling him that ridiculous hyphenated name they had come up with.

You-Know-Who might imply fear – but calling a person 'Riddle' definitely didn't. What a genius way to make people lose some of the fear they had of the Dark Lord and at the same time annoying said Dark Lord – if he was still around, that is. Amelia was quite sure that the answer to that question, even if it was not stated like that in the newspaper, was a clear 'yes'. Or why else write an article just to bait a Dark Lord?

Well, Amelia was sure she could aid in gaining some information for another interesting article like that. And with that thought Amelia packed the information about Tom Riddle and some other things about the ministry and Dumbledore she had gathered in a neat package before adding it to the stack of letters she intended to send. Then she returned to her work in the Black-case, not even bothering to look at the boldly titled package on top of her letters. And if someone read 'Oliver Twist' scribbled on it, they had to be delusional. After all Amelia Bones after all would never, ever think about sending a letter to Twist to aid him in his… twisting. _Never._ Except…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Augusta Longbottom was reading _The Quibbler_ at the same time as Amelia Bones. She had the newspaper sprawled all over her desk, her satisfaction evident in her face. A nice article. A very nice one – and it somehow felt like justice to spit the man whose followers tortured her precious child in the face with those words, even if it weren't hers but her Head of House's. But then, she was family and as such had the right to feel pride for her family. And it felt good to see her family finally avenging what had been done to its members!

What had been done to her precious baby boy, to the child she had hoped for for decades and that she had lost when he had just started to take a step back from his carrier to have a family.

Finally she looked up and in her visitor's eyes.

"How did he react?" she asked coolly.

"He definitely wasn't pleased," the man in front of her sighed while his fingers weaved through his slightly greying red locks. "I cannot believe that I was always too blind before to see that he definitely isn't pleased as much as he pretends to be."

Augusta just shrugged.

"That's Albus Dumbledore for you, Arthur," she answered while she frowned at the unkempt appearance of the man in front of her. Her own clothes were in predestine condition. Her stiff green robe and her tightly bound grey bun showing her status as the Dowager Longbottom. "You should do something about your appearance, Arthur. Your clothes and hair won't do when your family takes its place among the other houses in the Wizengamot."

Arthur Weasley's eyes widened.

"I don't believe my family will ever…"

"Of course it will. Your second born is the Prewett heir and you are the Head of House Weasley, one of the minor families of our Grand Family. You will get a place in the Wizengamot, so you should start acting like it."

Arthur just snorted.

"I have no idea how to act lordly, Augusta."

Augusta scrutinized the man in front of her, then her gaze returned to the article. She still wanted to burst into laughter after she had shown the article to Arthur Weasley yesterday morning when the paper came out. The man's eyes had gotten huge and he had started to splutter that he never ever expected someone to dare to do such a thing! But the best part had been when she had revealed that it had been a crew of their own head of house. The poor man had nearly suffocated before he had been able to get in another breath in his lungs. He simply had forgotten to breathe after that revelation.

"Well, then there is no way. I will tell you. You, your wife and your sons and daughter. There is no way that a part of my family doesn't know how to act properly with others of their standing."

Arthur spluttered and tried to object.

"Do you want to shame our Head? A Head as brilliant as him?" she asked the spluttering man while pointing at the newspaper in front of her. The Weasley Head followed her finger to the paper with his gaze and shook his head.

"Then it's settled," she said. "Your lessons will begin as soon as possible…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

But not all the reactions to Twist's article were as positive as Augusta Longbottoms. So while she started poor Arthur Weasley on lessons in etiquette, another man was withering in pain on the floor of his own manor. In his hands he clutched a letter and next to his head lay a newspaper he had brought the Dark Lord after it had been published in the Witch's Weekly.

"Crucio!"

Again pain shot through his body and Lucius Malfoy dearly regretted sharing the article with the Dark Lord. But if he hadn't it would have been a lot more painful than it was now – that was something Lucius Malfoy had learned when he had served the Dark Lord in the first war. Bad news had always consequences, if they were your fault or not did not matter. If you were the messager, you suffered – it was as simple as that.

"How dares that brat to imply I, the great Lord Voldemort, are afraid of death! How dares that… that unruly child to imply I am no lord! I am the Lord Slytherin, the most powerful lord in Britain!", the Dark Lord hissed at that moment while he strode up and down the room, sometimes stopping to either curse Lucius or Peter Pettigrew who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time and as such also had to endure the wrath of their lord.

"Crucio!"

Lucius would have never thought that he felt ever thankful towards the sniffling rat but at the moment he could kiss the rat – simply because Pettigrew was there and because of that shared the burden of the Dark Lord's wrath. On the other hand – no. He definitely wouldn't kiss the rat even now. The danger of being infected with some ominous Muggle-illness was far too great if he did that.

"This brat! I will show him! I will teach him!" the Dark Lord ranted. "I will…"

Lucius stopped listening again and instead looked down to the letter he clutched in his hands. The letter had nothing to do with the article Twist had written. It was a letter addressed to the Head of the Malfoy family. The letter itself consisted of heavy parchment and Lucius Malfoy's name and social position printed boldly on it in green letters – the colour of the letters indicating that it was an invitation of some sort.

It was the invitation to join a family. A Grand Family.

Lucius closed his eyes and tried to remember the words of the invite while the Dark Lord still ranted next to him. Maybe if he concentrated on something different he would lose the fear he held for the raving lunatic who strode up and down the room just some inches away from Lucius' head.

sSs

_To the Head of the House Malfoy and his Heir,_

_Children of the House of Malfoy, you have lived in honor of your ancestors. You have lived sly; you have lived true to your ideals. You have followed the way of your ancestors. I declare you kin of a beloved daughter of my House. As such I will cherish you and aid you in your time of need. You are granted entrance in my family._

_Answer my call, kin of my House, and return to your rightful place._

_Hold on, I will take you home this Saturday at midnight._

_I swear on my soul and magic you will be safe until you return._

_The Head of the Family_

sSs

In the past Lucius Malfoy would have never considered an invite like that. Joining a Grand Family simply meant less independent politically. But now his perspective had changed. Without the Malfoire-family holdings he soon would be unable to pay the things the Dark Lord wanted him to pay. The Dark Lord wouldn't be happy when he found out and Lucius could clearly see death in the near future. And he didn't want to die.

One option was to tie you to a Grand Family. He would gain access to the family holdings of the Grand Family and he would be able to return to his previous life-style with those founds – all positive aspects of a Grand Family. To Lucius' regret he would have to consider the power of his new head of the house over him if he truly decided to join. There were rules that might be stated to be able to join the family – and Lucius wasn't sure if it was worth to follow this family to get some money and some certain political allies instead of following his own ideals at the end. But then, he had lost his freedom to do so since the Head of Malfoire had come and taken over the responsibilities that Lucius had done before. Lucius had felt horrible when he followed his head's wishes for the first time and instead of voting for an anti-werewolf-law he vote against it. Still, he had done as he had been told. It was after all far better then being cast out of the family…

In that moment another Cruciatus curse hit Lucius and all his thoughts flew out of the window. The only thing left was pain. Absolute agonizing pain.

And one thought: "At least the Head of a Grand Family is not allowed to hurt his subjects…" Maybe the thought of joining was worth considering.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Meanwhile Albus Dumbledore was fuming. He had been fuming since yesterday morning when the paper had been released and he had seen that a student had dared to uncover one of the secrets he had held since fifty years.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been his little dirty secret – the one child he had not been able to safe. That someone had dared to step up and uncover that fact did definitely not sit well with the Headmaster.

And then Arthur Weasley had happened.

Oh, Albus Dumbledore despised the nice man at the moment. The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had gotten along nicely until Arthur Bloody Weasley had brought up the article in The Quibbler and had ask him if he knew what parts of the article were true and which weren't.

And Albus had to tell the whole Order – why couldn't that idiotic man wait with his question until after the gathering?! – that there was no lie in the article. And because of the questions of the others Albus had finally to admit that Oliver Twist until now had never lied in his articles. Every fact mentioned in the articles were true and if you took your time you could look them up – even now after the Minister had closed the archives for the public.

Oh, how Albus Dumbledore wished to uncover the identity of Twist – just so that he could kill that boy for bringing important information like that in the open! The boy would destroy everything if Albus couldn't stop him!

Until now Harry had been too preoccupied with the new Defence professor – and this year Albus praised that woman just for existing and stopping the Boy-Who-Lived to stick his nose in things like those articles – and with school in general.

Of course Albus had heard about the fight Harry had had with Ron and Hermione and he wasn't too pleased that neither of them told him the truth of what had happened between them when he asked. Hermione Granger had said something about Harry being his typical teenage self again, but Ron Weasley had just stared at him in loathing as if their fall-out with Harry was somehow Albus' fault. The boy had not said a word to him ever since.

And then there were Arthur and Molly. Instead of speaking with their son like he asked them to do, Arthur told him to stop sticking his nose into this fight. It had nothing to do with him and so he had no right to noise around in it. Arthur had never ever said 'no' to him before…

In that moment his door opened and Moody stepped in.

"Alastor, my friend," he greeted the man.

The Ex-Auror just nodded his head at him.

"I know you are still watching Harry closely. Have you found out what brought on his fall-out with his best friends?"

Moody snorted.

"You know that I doubt they are his best friends, Albus," Moody replied. "But to indulge your curiosity: the boy and his 'friends' had a fall-out because it seems that they were too noisy for the boy's comfort. Something about going to you instead of talking to him."

"Ah… well, that's unfortunate," Albus said sighing. "I guess it's definitely time that Harry has his first Occlumency lessons with Severus. He should do better as soon as Voldemort has not a grip as strong as now on the boy's mind."

Moody just snorted but said nothing. Albus of course knew that the Ex-Auror believed that Harry was an imposer but then, Albus was the only one who knew about the Horcrux in the boy's scar – so no wonder that Alastor came to the wrong conclusion.

"Was that all, Albus?" Moody asked instead.

Albus nodded.

"Of course, Alastor, my friend."

The Ex-Auror turned but just before he could leave the room, Albus decided to add another thing.

"Alastor!" the other man stopped and turned back to him. "Have you ever seen something that indicates the identity of Oliver Twist while you were spying in the castle?"

For a moment the Ex-Auror staid silent and contemplated his answer, then he shook his head no.

"I fear there never was any evidence about someone being Oliver Twist that I noticed, Albus," he said and then looked the Headmaster in the eye. "Was _that _all, Albus?" and with Albus' nod he left, leaving a still not wiser Headmaster in his wake.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

As soon as the door closed behind Alastor Moody his expressionless mask fell from his face and he face-palmed. He had been chasing the faux Harry Potter all year, never realizing that the one difference he had never contemplated was Oliver Twist.

Not only Harry Potter had changed this year. Oliver Twist had started to exist – so 'Oliver Twist', or at least the person writing him, also had changed. He knew that Oliver Twist was a Hogwarts student – the lad had written it himself in the first ever letter he had written to Xenophilius Lovegood. But the lad had never written before this year…

"Before they started to slander Harry Potter, actually," Moody concluded still in disbelieve that he could have missed something so obvious.

The writer of the articles had accused the Daily Prophet of slandering after they had gone after Harry Potter. Then there had been Harry Potters trial and the quip at Sirius Black. Later on the missing trial of Sirius Black himself. And now Voldemort. Whoever the writer of the articles was they had to have some connection to Harry Potter – there was just one question in Alastor Moody's mind: was the connection to the real Harry Potter or the person impersonating him?!

Alastor Moody had a new clue to chase after…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Meanwhile Fudge was staring at the article, fuming.

Did this boy really thing he could question the Ministry and his word as the Minister? How dared the boy to question his word by stating that You-Know-Who might still be alive?! Alone to have the nerve to even state that it might be, was something Cornelius Fudge, Minister extraordinaire, would not tolerate. The reason for that was simply: if he tolerated it, the step to the idea that You-Know-Who was truly alive was far too… small to take.

So Fudge would not tolerate it.

Of course it wasn't the first time the boy had seen to it that the ministry looked completely incompetent – and Fudge would not tolerate these lies and accusations anymore.

No, Fudge would strangle the boy as soon as he got his hands on him! But that exactly was the problem. There was no way to get his hands on that boy. And Fudge hated it.

"Maybe you should approach Xenophilius Lovegood about Twist. He should know who the boy is and there sure are ways to pressure him to give in to our demands," Dolores Umbridge said. She was not truly in the minister's office but flooing Fudge just at that moment. Cornelius Fudge had used this to ask her for advice concerning Twist.

The answer to her words was a smile – a smile that promised problems to Xeno Lovegood.

"A very good idea, Dolores. I will instantly get things started," he stood up and closed the floo connection to Hogwarts. Instead he opened a different one.

"Auror Dwalis," he said in greeting. "Would you please step through? I need you to accompany me somewhere."

The Auror on the other end just inclined his head. "Sure thing, minister," he said while stepping through. Galleons exchanged its hands and not ten minutes later Cornelius Fudge was on the way to a war against a twisting Hogwarts-student.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

While Fudge and the other people all were very emerged in the article, Hermione Granger wasn't. When she read it after classes on the day it was released, she was still preoccupied with Harry's words. Not that she truly thought them through. She was quite sure that Harry was just a moody teen and that he would come around in time.

At least that was what she told herself and others when they asked. But deep inside her there was a tiny voice, telling her that she was delusioning herself and that Harry truly meant it.

But she had been right! The Firebold could have been dangerous! She _had _to go to a professor and take it away from Harry before something happened!

"But why didn't you tell him first?" the tiny voice asked her in Harry's voice. "Why did you go straight to the professor? Harry is your friend; you can talk to him…"

Like she could have talked to him before running to Dumbledore because Harry was behaving differently than she had expected. But had it truly been her right to judge Harry? Had it been her right to decide what was unusual for Harry and what wasn't?

"He forgot things he knew for years, things about me he never forgot before…" Hermione reasoned. But Harry had never been through what he had been through at the end of last year. Hadn't he a right to act different than she was used to after seeing Cedric die in front of him? Hadn't he a right to forget that she hated brussle sprouts when he might be traumatized after seeing Cedric die? After meeting the Dementors in the holidays?

But he was Harry – and Harry always bounced back.

"Always until now, yes," the tiny voice whispered. "But there is always a first time when he won't. Maybe he finally reached that point. Maybe your actions – your telling on him – will push him over the edge. Maybe he didn't bounce back this time and you pushed him away with your insisting demands that he tells you everything…"

With a frustrated huff Hermione threw _The Quibbler_ against the wall.

"Oh, wow," a voice stated behind her. She turned. Fred – or was it George? "And I thought you would like the article Twist wrote and not throw it against the wall…"

Hermione blinked. Then her thoughts returned to the present and she blushed. "I liked the article, mostly. But I cannot believe Twist actually used the word 'mudblood'! That's not a word a proper journalist should use! It's like… it's like… I don't know!"

George – or was it Fred? – just blinked while his brother laughed at her.

"You're right. It was definitely a word you don't see in a newspaper normally," Fred said.

"I guess he did it to provoke the Dark Lord Tommy-boy…"

"Or the Dead Monkeys who follow and believe in him…"

"Or Malfoy. Maybe he wants to see the git faint in the middle of the Great Hall…"

"Oh, good one, brother of mine! I didn't think of that one!" the other twin said – Hermione had long since given up trying which one was speaking at the moment. "But maybe he didn't want to take on Malfoy but Snape. I heard he nearly choked on his pumpkin juice when he read the article."

"Or he wanted to see if Umbitch blows up by solely reading the m-word used to describe her lover…"

"Ew, Forge! This image! This image!" the other twin cried and started to claw at his eyes. Hermione scrunched up her nose in distaste.

"You didn't just say that, did you?" she asked while bile rose in her throat.

"Why? Don't you too think they fit? Umbitch with all her pink and good old snake-faced Tommy-boy," the twin who definitely had to have some kind of brain damage stated with a faked disbelieving look in her direction. "I bet they would get on like a house on fire."

"Sometimes I wonder if Bill or Charlie let you drop one time too often, Forge," the other twin stated.

"No, Gred," 'Forge' said grinning. "They just forget to drop you as often as they dropped me. But don't worry. We can fix that."

That was for Hermione the clue to take her leave. She definitely didn't want to get into whatever the twins would do now…

She never saw Ron lurking in one of the shadows, staring out of the window, _The Quibbler_ in his hands and his eyes hardened with the decision he had finally made. Ron had listened to Harry when the boy had told them of. Yes, Ron was a hard-headed bastard sometimes. Yes, Ron could be a jealous prat. But furthermost Ron had still one character trait that would always guide him in the end. Like it would do this time around. Like it had done in the past.

Ron was loyal.

He was a git.

He was a jealous prat.

He was a hard-headed bastard.

But he was a loyal one.

And he finally understood that it was time to take his head out of his arse and wise up. After all, Tom Riddle was back – and Harry would need everyone to get rid of this monster again. Even a jealous idiot like Ron.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Interestingly Severus Snape was one of those persons that were not at all concerned about the consequences of Twist's article. He had read it, nearly spat his juice on it when he saw the cunning that had driven the writer and then simply moved on to other things.

The consequences of the article instead were something Severus Snape definitely couldn't ignore as simply as the article itself. And so it came that he was striding with billowing robes to the Headmaster's office to report at midnight of that eventful day after he had been summoned just a few hours ago by the Dark Lord.

He spoke the password to the gargoyle and rode the stairs up to the well known office of the Headmaster, filled with all those useless trinkets that Albus Dumbledore was so fond of.

The Headmaster was still awake and waiting for him.

"Severus," he greeted the man and gestured to a chair for Severus to sit on. Severus just sneered at the chair and stopped in front of the Headmaster's desk, standing.

"The Dark Lord has upped his schedule," he said stiffly. The Headmaster just sighed.

"He plans to raid Azkaban tomorrow night."

The answer was another tired sigh.

"So he feels provoked by the article of Oliver Twist," Dumbledore said tiredly. "That's bad news for our side. If he ups the schedule too far it might be that he will conquer Great Britain long before we are ready to react."

"But it also will give him less time to plan, Headmaster," Severus replied stiffly. "I am sure that you have enough people to stop this raid tomorrow."

"I cannot stop him tomorrow, Severus," Albus Dumbledore said tiredly. "The world needs to know that he is back and sadly this will be the best way to make them believe."

"If we do nothing the Dark Lord will be able to get his forces back. His most trusted are in Azkaban! And Fudge will just aid him. This man is scared enough of the Dark Lord to ignore a Dark Mark and claim that nothing happened! He will do exactly the same if the Dark Lord breaks his most trusted out of Az…"

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted the heated rant of his potion master and spy. "We cannot react to this. We don't have the means to get into Azkaban to stop him…"

Severus Snape said nothing after that. He just nodded stiffly and bowed.

"I am sure you know what is best," he said coolly. "If you excuse me. I should turn in for the night now."

Albus Dumbledore just smiled his grandfatherly smile at the stiff potion's master.

"Of course, my boy," he said smiling gently. "Have a good night's rest."

Severus Snape just inclined his head and turned around to leave the Headmaster's office, his back stiff with silent resentment towards the Headmaster's words.

And tomorrow, while the world would crumble, Severus would also have his first Occlumency lesson with the Potter brat. There was no way to ruin an evening better for Severus Snape than the Dark Lord on the loose again, coupled with teaching the Potter brat Occlumency…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Surprisingly it had taken Harry's friends two weeks and two days – the exact two days _The Quibbler _had been released and had turned the magical world upside down – until they finally decided to apologize to Harry and it was Ron – Harry was definitely surprised on that one – who started it.

"Harry," Ron said that afternoon, hesitatingly and sat down next to Harry who was working on his Transfiguration essay in a shielded corner of the Gryffindor common room at that point of time. Later on Harry would have his first Occlumency lesson and he definitely wanted to be done with his essay in time to go to his 'Potion's remedy lessons'.

So Harry just looked up shortly before turning again to his essay and saying softly. "Yes, Ron?"

"The toad – I mean Umbridge – she's still giving you detention, isn't she?"

This seemed to be the start of a longer conversation. Harry sighed inwardly but finally shrugged and put his quill down. He had had his last detention with Umbridge just a day ago – and today he had gotten another two weeks, starting tomorrow for 'his cheek'. Harry had been silent the whole time her class lasted before he got the detention.

"You know she has no right to do that," Ron continued. "I mean, you are polite in her class and you don't cross her at all. She has nothing to base her detention on and you know it."

Harry shrugged again.

"I know. But if I go against her because of the detentions she is giving me she will just use my antagonizing her to give me even more detention," Harry answered, at that point of time not really sure what to think of his best friend and the odd conversation they were having.

"But she's doing something illegal!" Ron cried at that moment. "And don't tell me it's nothing! I have seen you rubbing your hand at odd times. I have seen the words engraved in them! You cannot let her continue to-"

"I won't," Harry said. "But this-" he showed Ron his hand with the engraved words on it. "Can be covered up by the ministry if I don't do this right. I need a catalyst to even have a chance to get her. Something big – and don't tell me something like this is easy to find!"

Ron opened his mouth, most likely to retort, but the only thing he finally said was: "Bloody hell! You really think that the ministry or the teachers won't do anything if-"

"I went to McGonagall," Harry said. "I tried to tell her. She won't listen." And it was the truth. He had gone to her – not because he needed her but because he was sure that if he didn't go to her, no one would. He knew very well that with his political power there were a lot of people even here in school that looked up at him. If he didn't go to the teachers, no one would because if he could bear it, everyone could.

So Harry went.

Harry went the day after his first detention but the only thing McGonagall had told him was to 'keep his head down'. She wouldn't even listen to him when he told her he had done nothing to antagonize the ministry toad – not that he called her that, mind you – and she even wouldn't look at his hand as if she had been afraid to see that his claims were more than words.

That was the moment Harry had fully seen how far the school was from the ideals it had been built on.

"She… she wouldn't listen?" Ron repeated, disbelieve coloring his voice. Harry just smiled bitterly at him.

"Welcome to my world, Ron," he said while he continued writing his essay.

"But… but… but your hand! I saw your hand! There is no way she couldn't have seen-"

"She didn't even look up to see, Ron. Was that all you wanted?"

Ron gawked at him for another moment or two, then he blurted out.

"No! I wanted to say 'sorry'!"

"Whatever for, Ron?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

"For being stupid and for going to the Headmaster before even trying to talk to you," Ron said. "I know I am a jerk sometime and I know I often cannot see further than my nose but, Harry, please! I am truly sorry for my behavior the other day! I should have gone to you! I should have talked to you! I'm really, really sorry that I just followed Hermione to the Headmaster's office to tell him everything!"

This time Harry put his quill down and looked at Ron with a serious expression.

"So you think that now, after you have apologized, it will be all well again?" he asked the boy in front of him while scrutinizing him.

Ron squirmed on his seat.

"I… I don't know," he said, his voice oddly soft. "I think I cannot blame you if you want to continue being angry with me. Merlin knows, I would never forgive you for the stunt I pulled and I guess… I guess I have to be okay with it if you do the same. Still, I _am_ sorry. Even if you can't forgive me I at least have to say it. The only other thing I have to offer is to tell you that I try to never do that again."

Harry studied his best friends face.

The red-haired boy in front of him looked at him with sincerity in his eyes. Ron meant it. Truly meant it. And even if Harry was not the same Harry Ron had been friends with before the summer, Harry was still hesitating about refusing the boy's apology outright.

Finally he sighed.

"I accept your apology," he said to the red head. "But that doesn't mean our friendship is still like it was before. I won't trust you as easily as before and I'm not sure if I will ever trust you with a secret ever again. I am sorry."

And with that Harry turned back to his homework, unable to look at the red head in front of him.

"I understand that, Harry," Ron said finally after the silence stretched between them. "Thank you for forgiving me." And then the red head who normally did anything but homework, pulled out his essay for history of magic and started to write about goblin wars.

"You should add the Great Battle of the North Fields to the wars you're researching," Harry recommended after a few minutes. "There's a witness report somewhere in the library that shows the side of the goblins."

"Hu? What witness?" Ron asked dumbfounded. Harry just shrugged.

"Prince Salvazsahar Pendragon, son of Arthur Pendragon," he said. "The prince fought on the side of the goblins in that war, so it definitely broadens your perspective on the goblin wars."

Ron blinked once, then twice. Finally he slowly nodded.

"Er… thanks, I guess," he said staring at Harry as if he was a foreign creature.

"You're welcome, I guess," Harry answered and returned to his essay. Half an hour later he finally finished, packed it away and then stood up.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, then caught himself. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking, that is…"

"I have remedial potions with Snape," Harry said. Ron looked at him in disbelieve.

"You are acing every potion since the beginning of the year – so why by Merlin's soggy underpants are you having remedial potions?"

"And that is the question, Ron," Harry said, grinning. "Ask the Headmaster. He was after all the one who came up with this idiotic explanation – but then, maybe Snape never told him that I memorized the potion's book over the summer?"

And with that Harry left the room and went to the dungeons to meet the man, he planned to break one day.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"_Legilimens!"_

Harry was baffled. So these were the lessons Dumbledore wanted Harry to have?! No introduction, no theory – just 'Clear your mind' and 'Legilimens'?!

Harry was not impressed.

And maybe he would have been totally pissed-off if he wouldn't already know what there was to know about Occlumency and Legilimency. Maybe these Arts were some obscure branch of magic today – when Harry had been taught, it had been absolutely necessary.

And Harry still thought it was.

If he would have been a teacher he would have taught his students both Arts as soon as they entered in his care…

Of course he was a student now…

When his teacher stopped trying to read his mind, Harry turned his attention back to reality.

His teacher sneered.

"I told you to clear your mind, Potter!"

Well, Harry already had a clear mind – not that his teacher was able to tell – so he surely would not attempt something he had mastered already when he really had been fifteen.

But how could Snape know?

Harry was sure, that his Occlumency was of a totally different kind than the man had ever seen before. And maybe would never see again…

The normal art of Occlumency was closing of all of his memories, leaving the mind empty for every attempt to read. Harry thought nothing of this idea.

When you would clear your mind, so there was nothing to find anymore, everyone would get suspicious – and Harry could and would not have that. He needed to be able to play an unprotected, helpless teen too often in the past to just wipe his mind from everything someone would attempt to read. So he had used a different approach, the one his father had taught him.

The result had been that Harry had not attempted to close of all his memories; he had just packed layers of unimportant memories over the important ones while burying the important ones behind different layers of defences. Harry himself wasn't sure how many layers of defences he really had. He just had built another one when he had learned a new way to protect his mind.

His outer layers now – the unprotected part – were childhood memories. All stuff Snape would have expected in Harry's mind – well, not really expected, because the memories Harry had used were those of the old Harry, and not of a pampered prince…

But that did not matter. It just mattered, that it were Harry's memories – and just enough to be believable. So there was nothing of the original Harry's memories before his fourth birthday and after that there just were some half remembered ones.

The only absolutely clear memories were those that had happened in the last six to seven years – just like it would be in every other mind that had not the uncanny ability to remember everything that had ever happened in his life.

A memory the original Harry would have had…

But pulling the wool over Snape's eyes was something that started to bore the new Harry to death. They were doing this mind-raping since twenty minutes. Harry wished they were finished. He hated sitting there and watching Snape shouting Legilimens at him, while he not even had to try to brush him of. His teacher was gliding off of his shields as if Harry's mind was glass and his teacher's attempt to read it water sprinkled on it.

Maybe…

_No! He was Harry now!_

But maybe…

_He was Harry!_

But maybe he could… just one glimpse… and he was so bored… so…

Maybe he should have his own fun while his teacher was feasting on his hatred to Harry's father and Harry himself.

But he shouldn't… the original Harry wouldn't…

But _he_ wasn't the original one!

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"_Legilimens!"_

There his teacher was again. Entering his mind, searching for his weaknesses…

But this time, it was different.

This time, Harry struck.

With the agility of a serpent he wound himself along the magic his teacher was using in the mind of the other. There was no escape from him. Greater men had fallen into his trap – and that was no surprise. Harry might be a good Occlumens, but he was a genius Legilimens.

Not even Dumbledore's or Voldemort's shields were a match for him, if he really tried – and even if the man's shields in front of him were strong enough to keep both of the old men out of his mind, he had nothing to defend himself from Harry…

And Harry wanted to know if his teacher's uncommon beginning of the lesson was out of pure hatred or out of something else.

Harry knew that teaching like that would end in nothing, if his opponent was a mere, ignorant student. Normally his teacher had to introduce the subject and then start with teaching Legilimency, not directly Occlumency. There was no way that a student would be able to learn Occlumency first. Legilimency would show him his teacher's defences so that he was able to build his own after them…

But without…

Harry did not follow his thoughts further, instead scrutinizing the defences his teacher had built in his mind.

"Impressive" Harry thought while gliding through the defences as if they weren't there. "Nearly impossible to breach."

Not that Harry had to. His knowledge of magic and the blood-magic he practiced let him conceal his own present in the flow of magic that was leaving his teacher's mind – something that even Dumbledore and Voldemort never had thought of.

"Very impressive indeed."

His teacher's approach was to delude the other mind into thinking that it was reading him while in reality it was bound in a box and fed with the memories and feelings Snape wanted them to see. Harry was sure that even Dumbledore would be trapped in this highly secure prison cell.

Of course, Harry wasn't. He had bypassed all the defences while being concealed in the man's own magic, looking now at them from the inside.

After he had mentally anatomized the shields of his teacher he returned his attention to the thoughts of his teacher.

They were an utter chaos – nothing a normal Legilimens's thoughts would be. They were dancing though the older man's mind, laced with guilt, fear and bitterness. There was dislike, bound to Harry's appearance, bound to Harry's father – but this was not the main feelings directed at him.

Sadness – as if Harry was something his teacher had lost a long time ago.

Bitterness – also bound to Harry's appearance, but this time more to his mother's aspects.

Guilt and fear…

Fear for Harry, fear of Tom Riddle… and somehow fear of Dumbledore and his scheming.

All swirling through his teacher's mind which had lost half an hour ago the cool efficiency that clearing the mind would bring normally…

"I have to teach him Legilimency first," a thought echoed through the mind of the man and Harry watched the memory playing through the feelings of the other one. "It is always done like that."

"But we don't have time to begin with Legilimency," another voice answered – Albus Dumbledore's, Harry would recognize this voice everywhere. "The boy will be able to handle it. He has shed the Imperius – he will be able to learn Occlumency without Legilimency first."

"One thing has nothing to do with the other…"

"So you would risk teaching him Legilimency while being under Voldemort's eyes? Don't you think that Voldemort would kill you when he finds out from the boy's mind – and believe me, he will. The boy is far too much under his control at the moment to not find out about that. And who would then be there to watch over the boy? Sirius? Remus? Would you like Lily's son's security solely in their hands?"

His teacher had nothing replied, but Harry could feel guilt and fear growing stronger.

Harry stared at the memory, storing it away in his own mind.

Then he decided to follow the strings attached to Snape's guilt and fear and watched where they lead to.

Childhood memories of his teacher swamped Harry's mind. He saw the parents arguing, saw the father drinking. He saw the cruelty and the fear that penetrated the Snape household. And he saw Lily – the only light in Snape's early years.

Lily, who was the source of Snape's guilt.

He felt the love bound to the red haired girl, the genuine awe Snape had felt for her. She had been perfect in his teacher's eyes – not perfect in 'she had no flaws' but perfect in 'she was everything he needed to be happy'.

Not that Snape ever understood that it had been his dabbling in the Dark Arts that drove Lily away in the end and not Potter.

And then Harry stumbled over the memory of Snape begging the old goat of a Headmaster for Lily's life – vowing the man to do anything for him as long as Lily was kept safe.

He stumbled over this memory and all that correlated with it. The prophecy – and wasn't that some interesting discovery? Of course, Harry had found out meanwhile about the shift in the ministry to keep something safe – but he had not found out until now that it was a prophecy about him and Tom Riddle…

And Dumbledore had used Snape's actions of running to Tom Riddle with what he heard to guilt-trip the younger wizard.

"Manipulating bastard," Harry thought while drawing back, returning to his own mind. "Old slippery manipulating bastard!"

But there was nothing he could do now – except for one thing.

While leaving he placed a single, simple rune-spell in his teacher's mind. This spell was something that maybe would be considered dark today – it had been considered dark when Morgana LeFay herself used it, but it would do its purpose…

Harry let the other man go, returning to his own mind and then waited until his teacher drew back from his mind. He scrutinized his teacher.

The older man seemed fine, so the spell Harry had used had integrated itself in his teacher's defences without any problems.

Snape instead huffed at Harry.

"Try again, Potter!" he hissed. "_Legilimens_!"

This time Harry opened one of his defences and added another three memories to those he had gathered in his protection. With a subtle nudge Harry shoved his teacher into the first memory.

Lily's death.

Harry knew he was cruel, but he also knew that he had to be cruel to reach his teacher.

The rune-spell Harry had placed reacted instantly, telling Harry that Snape definitely did not take well to see the night of Lily's murder. Still, when Snape tried to pull out, Harry held him in place. Harry held him in place until the memory had played out, then he shoved Snape into the next – an even older one.

"_If it's Severus like Dumbledore told us, then I believe that he is genuine in his change of heart," Lily said. James was carrying baby Harry who was playing with a stuff dog._

Harry could feel Snape startle when he heard Lily defending him. Instead of trying to pull away from the memory, Snape emerged in it and Harry let him. It was far easier to keep someone in a memory if this person wanted to be there.

"_Lily," James said with a sigh. _Snape sneered at the man.

"_No, James! I know you hated Severus but _I_ was friends with him! I know that he dabbled in the Dark Arts! I know he chose the wrong crowd! But he was my friend since I was eight – even if you don't like him, at least accept that I know him better than anybody else!"_

Harry could feel the surprise and the self-hatred in Snape. Not that Harry could blame him. It was the first time for Snape hearing the real reason why Lily left him.

"_No, Lily, You _knew_ him better than anybody else," James corrected her. "He changed long ago!"_

_But Lily shook her head._

"_Somewhere, deep inside he was always the same sweet boy I met so long ago, James. People might change – but there is still a core that won't change whatever you do. And Severus was always good at his core."_

This time the guilt Snape felt was even more pronounced than it had been before.

"_Lily…"_

"_No, James! I know it! I… I… I_ need_ to believe it! I was never a bad judge of character – are you telling me now I am?"_

"_Well, you don't like Peter…"_

"_That has nothing to do with that, James!"_

Harry then ripped his teacher from this memory to stuff him into the next, a memory that had been open to Snape all along – the revealing of Peter Pettigrew being the traitor in the original Harry's third year.

Fury tasted like iron on Harry's tongue when the rune he had placed in Snape's mind reacted to the memory of the traitorous rat.

Harry knew that the rat wouldn't survive the next encounter with Severus Snape if Snape had any means to kill the rat at his disposal at that time. It seemed as if until now the rat and Severus had not met in Voldemort's service.

Harry didn't mind that Snape might kill the rat. Of course, the rat would make it easier for Sirius to get his freedom – but Sirius' freedom was one of the lesser parts in Harry's plans and there were other ways.

He let the memory play out and threw Snape in the last one he had taken out of his protection.

_Lily was standing next to the crib, rocking Harry._

_The baby looked at her with huge eyes, innocent and green – so green._

"_Shh," she whispered. "Sleep my precious child. Sleep, my little angel."_

_Baby Harry squealed._

"_Mummy loves you, daddy loves you," she said, like she had told Harry shortly before Voldemort reached Harry's room. "Don't forget. Whatever will happen, don't forget, mummy loves you, daddy loves you. You are my precious baby boy."_

_She looked up and out in the night._

_Her grip tightened._

"_Never forget. Even if mummy has to die for you to keep you safe," one of her hands let go of little Harry and touched the walls, marred with blood and runes. "Mummy will keep you safe. Even if daddy will have to die for you, daddy will keep you safe. Whatever will happen – as long as I'm alive I will do anything, _anything_ to protect you!"_

And with that Harry threw Snape back into the cruel memory of Lily's death.

"_Mummy loves you, daddy loves you."_

"_Whatever will happen – as long as I'm alive I will do anything, _anything_ to protect you!"_

It was like he had dosed Snape in ice water.

For a moment Snape's magic and essence froze in place, staring at the scene of Lily dying again like a deer frozen in headlight.

Then Snape stared to struggle against Harry's hold.

Snape's magic was all over the room, uncontrolled and ready to defend. Harry could feel the breakdown that was to come.

It had been too much. Too much guilt was clouding Snape's mind, too much hurt. This time it wasn't just guilt about killing Lily, it was the guilt about letting her down. About treating Harry like he had treated him when Harry had been first and for all _Lily's_ son.

_Not Potter's. _

_Lily's._

Harry let him go and Snape retreated as fast as he could from Harry's mind – a flight, but a gentle one because the first time since the start of their lesson, Snape did everything to avoid it, to hurt Harry.

Harry looked up at his teacher but the man avoided his eyes.

"Go" he sneered instead – his voice, as steady as he would have wished it, trembling because of the things he had seen. Harry felt a little guilty now after seeing the potion's master struggling with playing unaffected. The man in front of him was nothing but a child, chained by his grieve and guilt for something he had just a little part into doing. "Same time next week – and practice clearing your mind every night before bed."

Harry nodded and turned to leave, but at the door he stopped again.

He could not leave like that…

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Severus Snape couldn't even think clearly anymore. His thoughts were a mess, his emotions were all over the place.

It couldn't be true. The boy… the boy had been far too young to remember things like that!

But it was true.

He had seen the memories.

Potter had no Occlumency shields, no way to keep Severus out! And even if he would have had, you couldn't create memories like that without leaving at least a hunch that something was wrong. Tempering with a memory was possible – but not as long as the memory was still inside your head.

So Severus did the only thing he could do: he tried to remove Potter from his present before his fragile grasp on his emotions slipped. Severus knew that if Potter was still there when he broke down, he would lose every respect the boy ever had for him – not that the boy ever had a lot of it for him…

"Go," he rasped out, while trying to sound as normal as he could. Luckily the boy was a Gryffindor – he shouldn't know that something was amiss at all with his thick head and egocentric mind. "Same time next week – and practice clearing your mind every night before bed."

The boy nodded, but instead of leaving stopped in front of the door again.

"You know, the Headmaster has no right to guilt-trip you like he does, Professor" he said without turning around to the teacher. Severus stiffened while hoping against hope that his bodily reaction was going to be unnoticed. "You weren't the one at fault for my mother's death. You might have played a part in it, but in the end I blame Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore for her demise – and you should do it, too."

It was like another shock to Severus' system.

A guilt absolution.

Once, Severus would have interpreted Lily's son's words as arrogance, now he could hear Lily's voice in his ears. _"Somewhere, deep inside he was always the same sweet boy I met so long ago, James. People might change – but there is still a core that won't change whatever you do. And Severus was always good at his core."_

"_You weren't the one at fault for my mother's death."_

_Those words were not arrogance. Those words were Lily, talking to him through her son from beyond the grave._

"You have no idea what you are talking about, Lily's child!" Severus hissed, lashing out at the absolution that was presented at him. An absolution he so dearly wanted, but one he didn't deserve. Not from Lily's son.

"I killed your mother!" he hissed, hot tears misting his eyes, but not spilling – not yet. "The Headmaster did everything to protect her and I…"

"Albus Dumbledore did _nothing _to protect my family," the boy interrupted, also hissing. Lily's son turned around and this time Severus was not fast enough to escape the death green eyes of the boy. Fire was dancing in them – fire sparked by fury.

"Dumbledore," the boy hissed, his deathly eyes capturing Severus' black ones, holding them hostage. "Dumbledore did _nothing_ for anyone! If he really would have cared like he pretends to do he wouldn't have just watched Riddle – he would have stopped him! If Dumbledore really would have cared he wouldn't have hidden away when Grindelwald tried to take over the world, but would have stopped him long before their epic battle in 1945, when Grindelwald was at the height of his power! If he would have cared he would have found the means to end this coming war before it even started! He suspected for _decades_ what Tom Riddle had done. He knew for _years_ that he was right! And what did he do? He sat there, _watching_ – watching a child struggle to fight off a man, decades older than it! He had thirteen years of peace – time enough to find out if he was right, time enough to do everything in his power to stop Tom Riddle! But again, he did _nothing_! _You_…" Lily's son's finger was aiming at him as if the boy wanted to pile him with it.

"You went through a war. You might have been young and foolish at that time but you know war! Tell me, Head of House _Slytherin _– when did you join the war?"

Severus stared at Lily's boy in front of him. It took a few moments but when the seconds of silence ticked by, Severus understood that the boy wanted a genuine answer to his question.

So Severus gave him the answer he wanted.

"When I was eighteen," he whispered harshly. His Occlumency was working over time to keep his emotions in check – but to everyone who couldn't read the slight glimmering of his eyes, nothing would seem to be wrong.

"Eighteen – and just out of Hogwarts," the boy said and the knowledge and_ age _that suddenly displayed in his eyes nearly unsettled the potion's master. "Albus Dumbledore was _sixty-three_ when he finally decided to end a war that had lasted for at least a decade and that was at its high for the previous _four years_! More though, Albus Dumbledore _knew_ that Gellert Grindelwald planned to overthrow the world decades earlier – he knew it since he met Grindelwald when he was not even fully out of Hogwarts! He should have told someone when he found out that Gellert Grindelwald decided to go through with his plan! Instead he did nothing. He _knew_ and did nothing!"

Severus stared emotionlessly at Lily's child, but his mind was racing with the information given to him just seconds ago.

"Tell me, Professor, how long did it take until you knew that the side you had joined was the wrong one – and don't come with you joined Dumbledore's side in 1979 when the prophecy was made. You might have dabbled into the Dark Arts, but you aren't a cruel man. So, how long until you knew you made a mistake?"

_How did the boy know about the prophecy?_

_How did the boy know about Severus' change of heart?_

Severus wanted to tell Lily's boy that he was wrong and that Severus had not understood the truth until the Dark Lord had target Lily. But that would have been a lie. As ensnared in the Dark Arts as Severus had been, he had known he had made a mistake after the first raid he had ever accompanied.

Before he could even think about answering, the boy's eyes lit up and Severus knew that Lily's child _knew_ – he didn't know how, but the boy's eyes showed the truth.

"It was far earlier, wasn't it?" the boy said.

"Even if it was – it does not matter!" Severus answered sneering.

The answer was bitter smile.

"It does matter," the boy said. "You saw Tom Riddle's lies and even if you were unable to do something against him, you knew what you did was _wrong_! Albus Dumbledore tells everyone that he was the first one to look behind the mask of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tell me, if he truly did – and he did, believe me – why didn't he do something about it? Instead of trying to change the way the boy was on, he settled on watching. He watched. He watched while Tom Marvolo Riddle killed a girl on school ground. He watched while Tom Marvolo Riddle murdered his own father. He watched while the new dark lord in the making dabbled in the Dark Arts – he always watched, doing nothing!"

"He fought against the Dark Lord!" Severus argued. His emotions were all over the place and at the same time tightly controlled. He couldn't bear to hear what he was hearing but his Slytherin mind told him to listen. But still, the Headmaster had been the one who had rescued Severus and who had given him a task to atone for his sins. The Headmaster had always fought in the war – there was no way he had damned the world by knowing about the new threat that Voldemort was, and not reacting, had he?

"He always did everything he could to stop the Dark Lord," the words sounded empty, but Severus had to say them anyway.

"Like he did something when my father and his friends bullied you?"

_The portraits that listened and reported to the headmaster._

_The wards that told him about the happenings on the school grounds._

Lily's child didn't mention any of them, but they were there and Severus knew of them, like every other Head of House did. _They had to have been there as well when Severus had been a student._ Not the child's words but true nevertheless.

Suddenly Severus' world had cracks all over. Albus Dumbledore hadn't known about the Marauders and their doings, had he?

An unbidden memory returned to him when he thought about it. He saw himself, dishelmed and frightened after his near-encounter with an enraged werewolf and he saw Albus Dumbledore, standing in front of him and instead of punishing Potter and his cronies, rewarding Potter, dismissing Black and telling him, the victim, that he wasn't allowed to speak about it to anyone if he didn't want to leave Hogwarts for good.

But that was a one time occurrence – an honest mistake on Albus Dumbledore's part, wasn't it?

"Did he do something about your father and his treatment towards you – especially after your mother died?" Lily's child asked. "And don't delude yourself that he didn't know – there are basic diagnostic charms every nurse or healer casts before treating a patient. Those diagnostic charms don't miss things like that."

Severus' clenched his fists. He knew of the charms. But they had started to use them after his time, hadn't they? There was no way they had known and done nothing! No one knew! No one had ever known – no one except for Lily…

_But the child _knew_! Somehow this boy, Lily's boy, knew about Severus' treatment at the hands of his father._

"Tell me, did he ever give you a way out after you came to him, pleading for my mother's life? Did he ever give you the choice to quit?"

_Dumbledore had needed a spy, had needed him…_

"He needed me where I was! And I had to atone for my sins!" this time Severus had to voice his thoughts. He couldn't keep quiet when the child tried to destroy the image he had built himself of the man who had taken him back even after he had done the unforgivable.

"What sins?!" Lily's child said. "When you joined, you were an eighteen-year-old, lost and disillusioned teen! Tell me, why did you join Tom Riddle? Was it because of his ideals?"

Severus sneered.

"Was it because of his charm?"

Severus sneered again.

"No! You were an angry teen who wanted nothing but being acknowledged for himself once in his life!" this time Severus couldn't sneer. How did Lily's child know? "You wanted someone to see you for you – and Tom Riddle promised you that. He promised you revenge against those who tormented you, he promised to see you for you! Of course his promises were nothing but lies – but you didn't know because you were a child! Children make mistakes and it is the job of their elders to forgive them and to show them the way! _Albus Dumbledore_, Headmaster of Hogwarts, let you down! No, instead of forgiving you he decided to use your guilt to trap you as a chess piece in his sick little game!"

"He did it to keep everyone safe – your parents included, boy!" Severus argued, his frustration and grieve were turning his eyes red while he desperately tried to stop the tears from spilling. He was the bat of the dungeon, the man without feelings, the nightmare of every Gryffindor. He didn't cry like a child – he hadn't cried since the day Lily left him for good. "It was his right! I made a mistake and I paid for it! I knew I made a mistake just days after I took the Dark Mark!"

"Yes, you made a mistake!" Lily's child interrupted him heatedly. "A single mistake and you are paying for it ever since! You knew you made the wrong choice just days after you made it, like every sane person with your background in the Muggle world would have known! You, not like the purebloods, knew that Tom Riddle did the wrong thing because you had experience in the Muggle world. You knew the good and the bad of both worlds – different than those purebloods in his service that feared what they didn't know."

"Really?" Severus sneered. "If I truly was so perfect – why did I stay true to the Dark Lord for nearly a year before betraying him?"

"Of course you didn't tell anyone," the boy replied snorting. "No sane Slytherin would have endangered his own life without a reason. It's the epitome of a Slytherin to be able to twist and to lie until no one knows the truth anymore, until he can deceive anyone – even the false Heir of Salazar Slytherin."

Severus sneered at Lily's child.

"You have no idea what it means to be a Slytherin, Lily's boy!" he hissed. "You have no idea what sins I committed in the name of the Dark Lord, what deeds I did to escape his wrath!"

The answer was an unsettling smile.

"Tell me, Professor, did you kill for him?" the boy asked softly, while returning to the middle of the room – nearing Severus until the potion's master was sure that the boy could see the red rim of his eyes, until he was sure that the boy could see the tears that tried to spill.

"How… how dare you…!"

"Ah, so you never killed," Lily's child said. "Then tell me, did you torture for him?"

Severus flinched.

And those green, green eyes were watching him, exposing all his secrets…

"How often?" the boy's voice was soft.

Severus tried to look away but those eyes held his gaze, captured it.

"So not really often – but you still feel guilty for it."

"I don't feel guilty!" Severus denied. The answer was a soft, warm smile.

"That's alright," Lily's child said. "I stopped feeling guilty for those I killed a long time ago – a Crucio is nothing against what I have done."

This time the potion's master sneered at Lily's boy.

"I am quite sure that you never killed, Lily's child," he hissed. "The Headmaster would have never allowed it!"

The child just looked at him. Then the boy shrugged.

"I'm quite sure that the first time I killed at least a body, even if it wasn't a person, was when I was just a fifteen months old child."

Severus sneered.

"Quit your arrogance, Potter!" he said. "Whatever happened that night, I'm sure _you_ were the one who did the least!"

"Ah, but the ritual my mother used to protect me was taught and created by me – so wouldn't it have been my kill, how indirectly it had been at that time?" Potter said.

"What are you babbling about, Potter?" Snape hissed. "Are you delusional now?"

The answer was a predatory smile.

"Severus Snape, Head of House _Slytherin_," Potter said instead. "Why do you blame yourself when it was Dumbledore who stomped on my mother's sacrifice?"

Severus sneered.

"The Headmaster would never…"

"Petunia Evans," the boy interrupted him and Severus' sneer vanished when he remembered the awful girl who had always belittered Lily. Every other thought was swept away when he looked down at Lily's child.

"Why are you mentioning this vile woman?" he hissed.

"She didn't change from the time you knew her, you know?" the boy said. "Imagine what it was like, growing up in her _loving _care…"

Dark, little spaces and frying pans made their way in Severus' mind – memories he had seen in Lily's child's mind but had not paid attention to. He had not been interested in what he saw, he had just been interested in ending this cursed lesson as fast as possible.

Now he remembered them and shuddered inwardly.

His eyes were unconsciously searching those green, green eyes in front of him. His magic spiked and a not controlled Legilimency probe just added to what he already knew.

He didn't even think when he touched the child's chin, raising the boy's head to be able to look better in Lily's eyes.

"Who was the imbecile who put you there?" he hissed.

The boy smiled – but the smile clearly didn't reach those green, green eyes.

"Albus Dumbledore."

And Severus' world shattered fully.

Glasses with ingredients exploded. His desk was nothing but dust. His magic was raging against the castle walls and the moaning door.

Severus did not know if he should rage, cry or grieve. His emotions were all over the place when his Occlumency shields finally shattered under the last disheartening revelation.

He knew, the Headmaster meant to do the right thing.

He knew the Headmaster was good.

But it was too much.

Severus had fought in a war since he was old enough to leave school. The Headmaster, the great leader of the light, instead had opted to stand by and watch while others struggled.

Severus had lied for that man, spied for that man – all to keep Lily safe.

But Lily had died in the care of Albus Dumbledore.

Severus had gone to Azkaban for three months for this man. He had stayed true to his mask for this man – all to keep Lily's child safe.

And Albus Dumbledore had taken said child and placed it in the care of that one person Severus never had the chance to protect it from: its own aunt – a woman Severus had never thought of as the guardian of Lily's child.

In that moment one of his shelves gave in to the pressure and crashed before it was malmed into dust by Severus' magic.

Soft hands enveloped him, softly stroking his back in soothing circles. And the first tear fell from his eyes.

He was the bat of the dungeon, the man without feelings, the nightmare of every Gryffindor. He didn't cry like a child – he hadn't cried since the day Lily left him for good!

But then the soothing hand again circled his back and the next tear spilled. Severus' hands searched something to hold on, to rely on. Soft, black fabric was what he found. The fabric of the boy's robe.

He was the bat of the dungeon – again a tear leaked from his eyes.

He was the man without feelings – his fingers tightened their grip on Lily's child's robes.

He was the nightmare of every Gryffindor – and with a final soothing circle on his back his shoulders sacked and he began to sob his heart out. Until now, he had never allowed himself to grieve for Lily and for everything he lost. Until now, he had simply shut away his emotions and had instead relied on his hatred for Gryffindors and Potters especially to be able to continue his day.

He had been crushed by his fears and had struggled under the burden placed on his – at that time – far too young shoulders. He had never time to grow up because he had been shackled to the place of his darkest past – and at the same time he had been forced to grow up far too quickly.

And now he was sobbing on the shoulders of Lily's child. Relying on the strength of Lily's child. His hands fisted even more when again guilt crept into his consciousness. He shouldn't rely on a helpless teen in his distress. He was the adult, the boy the child.

It was another soothing circle that destroyed these thoughts again. It was the calm, shielding feeling of the boy's magic that made him rely on the child and it were those green, green eyes that destroyed the last bits of his resistance when he finally broke down in the arms of his student, unable to take the cruelty of the world any longer.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Severus Snape awoke the next morning, he was lying on his couch in his quarters. On the table next to him was the well known letter he had gotten some days previously. Severus stared at it.

When did he put it there? He was sure he had placed it on his desk in his office the last time he had it in his hands.

The letter was open, displaying the invitation it contained.

xXx

_To the Heir of the House Prince,_

_Child of the House of Prince, you have lived in honor of your ancestors. You have lived sly; you have lived cunning; you have lived true to your ideals. You have followed the way of your ancestors. I declare you the child of the beloved heir of my House. As such I will cherish you and aid you in your time of need. I will redeem your claim and return you to your rightful place. You are subject to my House and I will take you in as mine._

_I invite you back in my family._

_Answer my call, heir of my House, and return to your rightful place._

_Hold on, I will take you home this Saturday at midnight._

_I swear on my soul and magic you will be safe until you return._

_The Head of the Family_

xXx

Had Potter read it?

Then Severus shook his head to clear his mind. Potter couldn't have read it. Severus might not remember how he found his way into his quarters last night but Potter definitely hadn't been in here with him.

And the Occlumency lesson definitely hadn't taken place like he remembered it. There was no way he would break down in the arms of a student!

Sadly a certain part of Severus' mind – the Slytherin part – told him that he was delusioning himself and that it _had _happened. But it couldn't have. Potter… Potter hadn't been Potter yesterday. Especially not at the end.

So maybe the end hadn't happened but had been added as dreams to the lessons. Wishful thinking and all that. Sadly being an Occlumens made convincing himself that he had dreamed the end of the lesson impossible. An Occlumens always had a well sorted mind – to confuse a dream with reality definitely would destroy said sorting…

So there was just one thing Severus Snape could do now.

He had to regain his dignity.

Gryffindor House of Hogwarts would wish to be never born at the end of the following day.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_An explanation to Snape's behaviour: I tried to base it on his reaction to Lily's letter in the memories of DH and because of that made him emotional - exactly like he reacted when he was confronted with Lily again in DH. I hope he doesn't get too OoC for your liking in this chapter..._

_That's it for today._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	37. Chapter 36: 980-1021 AD To Aid A Child

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**_Un-beta-ed for now!_**

_Sorry for the delay. School started again and I had to put it first, sorry._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 980 and 1021 AD**

**To Aid A Child, To Have A Child**

sss

The next two and a half years were pure horror for Godric.

Until Salazar left, he had always thought that he was right and that purebloods were a threat for the wizarding world. He had never ever thought about the fact, that he once had known that Salazar was a pureblood. When Salazar had told him all those winters ago, the fact that he was a pureblood was something abstract and not worth thinking over for Godric. He had simply accepted it at that time. And he had forgotten it over the decades he had worked with Salazar side by side.

After all, who would remember something like that if the man you work with was not different than every other man he had ever met? There was no aspect in Salazar's personality that screamed "pureblood" – or at least that screamed "pureblood" to Godric. Salazar was simply nothing like the picture Godric had constructed for himself of a pureblood.

And so Godric had forgotten. Maybe him forgetting had also to do with the fact that he had never heard of the word Salazar had used to name himself a pureblood, before he had met Salazar. Salazar simply never had said outright "I am a pureblood," not because Salazar was ashamed, but because Salazar had never called a pureblood a pureblood. He had always spoken of… Godric had forgotten the word again.

It had been two and a half years since Salazar had left. It had been two and a half years since Helga had even looked at her brother or spoken to him about anything but classes and the academia. And Godric had learned the price you payed for prejudice.

Salazar's house, the Slytherin's had ochestrated themselves from the rest of the houses, sneering at them and ignoring them. Especially Godric's house was scorned by the Slytherins – and of course, Godric himself. Oh, the Slytherins still attented his classes and did the things he ask of them. But when they spoke to him their voices were icy and their gaze cold. They blamed him for Salazar leaving. And he was to blame. He was the one who had not stopped the students when they biasedly talked about purebloods. He was the one who had bought into the rumors. He was the reason Salazar left.

He and his big mouth.

He and his single brain cell.

And Godric blamed himself. He blamed himself for Salazar leaving. He blamed himself for Rowena's tears and her refusal to even look at him for a whole month after Salazar had left.

Of course, Godric had appologized. He had appologized to his brother-in-law and his wife for calling them a monster. He also would have had appologized to Salazar – but the man had vanished and wherever Godric looked, he could not find him.

And Godric had looked. He had looked everywhere and he would continue to do so whenever he had time. Every summer break since Salazar left he had vanished looking for his friend, with no success. Every day he had free he left Haugh's Wards by horse or wrote letters to every acquaintance he had – the letters to Salazar himself returned unopened.

Slytherin house was in the moment managed by the potion professor – just that the man was unable to teach at all. Godric regretted now that he never listened to Salazar when the man had complained about the potion master. Godric had always thought the man complained because of his wish of perfection – Godric had never guessed that his complain was founded on nothing but the truth.

They had to call back a former student to find an adequate rune master, but the man was not truly interested in teaching and he was not even half as good as Salazar had been. On the other hand the position of the healer was left unoccupied because every decent healer was employed and the others were mostly inadequat or asked for too much money.

And all that was Godric's fault.

All because he had decided to believe in rumors.

Oh, how Godric regretted his stupidy! Oh, how he regretted not even trying to learn about the people he was afraid of!

In the end Godric had done the only thing he could do except of searching for the vanished Slytherin-Founder. He had started to work on his fear.

Instead of sneering at the centaurs in their woods he had searched them out and had spoken to one of them. His heart had fluttered the whole time and he had been ready to bold at the slighest movement, but he had spoken with the centaur.

Centaurs were not terrifying, at least not much – that was the result Godric drew at the end of his conversation with one. Not much of a result, but enough for Godric.

Then Godric had searched out other purebloods. He left the castle and visited another lake because he had heard the rumors of merpeople. The merpeople had been terrifying to look at but they had been friendly and patient when Godric had tried to start a conversation with one of them. This time the results were that Haugh's Wards gained some new inhabitance in the lake – Godric dearly hoped that Salazar wouldn't mind but he guessed that if the man could accept centaurs in their woods, he would be able to accept merpeople in their lake.

Peverell had just shaken his head and mumbled something like: "The next time he comes back with a grim or a dragon!"

Maybe Godric would have – but he definitely knew his sister and his wife good enough to not even try this stunt. He would be banished from Haugh's Wards before he could even open his mouth and tell them about the new addition if he would dare to bring a dragon or another dangerous creature…

Not that he would have brought a dragon. Well, maybe…

Godric shook his head to clear it. He was back in the outer world, searching for either a pureblood he had not met or Salazar – whatever crossed his way first. Usually it was a pureblood.

"You should look where you're going," a voice suddenly interrupted his musings. Godric startled. "It's definitely not a bright idea to walk through a forest like this one without being allert. There are more terrifying predeators in the world than animals."

Long years of training kicked in instantly and a second later Godric had turned to where the voice had come from, his wand in his hand and a spell on his lips. The stranger reacted just in time to step out of the way of the spell.

"Well, it seems that you are at least adequate with your defences if you are allert," the stranger drawled, white fangs gleaming in the dimming light of the evening.

_Vampire._

That was a pureblood, Godric definitely had not wanted to meet.

He gulped.

_Immortal,_ his mind suplied. _Drinks blood. Dangerous._

Nope, definitely not a pureblood he wanted to meet.

"Cat got your tongue?" the vampire asked with a raised eyebrow. Apparently it had judged him and had dismissed him as a threat – or why was it still talking to him after he had shown it that he was a wizard?

Then the words of the vampire caught up to him and Godric snarled.

"Definitely not," he hissed. The vampire just looked at him, clearly unimpressed.

"So, wizard, is there a reason why you wander these woods while clearly asleep with your eyes open?"

"I was not asleep! I was thinking, remembering!" Godric defended himself while blushing. He could not believe he hadn't payed attention to his surroundings while walking in the woods! Especially unknown woods!

"Maybe you should remember elsewhere when you need to be asleep to do it," the vampire remarked. Godric hissed.

"Shut up! Clearly whoever raised you had no idea what he was doing if you are that rude with every person you meet!" it was after he had uttered his sentence that he remembered that he was speaking to a vampire – a human blood sucking, ridiculously powerful vampire. Maybe not the best idea Godric ever had to insult a vampire's parents if the vampire could rip him to shreds without anybody wiser.

But the vampire just laughed.

"Pater wouldn't mind. I grew up getting reminded to never sleep in the woods without proper wards around myself. Of course, it still can happen that you are surprised or captured by whatever, but it is less likely if you are cautious – and_ you_ definitely weren't," the vampire added after having a good laugh at Godric's words. Godric just growled.

"And I bet he also taught you how to prey on innocent wanderers," he mumbled. He thought that he had been quiet enough but it seemed that the hearing of a vampire was far sharper than he had assumed because the vampire looked at him stunned and a little bit offended.

"I'm not preying onto you!" the vampire said. "If I truly would have liked to do that I would have done that hours ago when I first saw you – not when you were just inches from kissing a tree goodnight!"

"Hu?" Godric asked and turned around to look in the direktion he had been heading – just to hit his head on said tree.

"Oh, ouch."

"So much to my warning," the vampire snorted and shook his head. "You're definitely an odd sorcerer, you know?"

Godric looked at the vampire oddly.

"I would say you are an odd vampire," he countered. The answer was a pearly laugh.

"Aye, that I am," the vampire said grinning. "But I'm proud of it!"

And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the vampire bowed in front of Godric and said. "Anastasius Sanguini, at your service."

Godric refrained from rubbing his eyes to see if he was hallucinating. A vampire wouldn't act like a properly raised lord, would it?

"Er… Godric Gr… LeFay, at your service," he said, correcting his own last name in the last minute. He had not spoken his own last name for such a long time that it sounded nearly foreign in his own ears.

"LeFay?" the vampire repeated surprised. "You're a child of my uncle?"

Then recognition lit his eyes.

"You're the wanna-be mixblood who insulted my father," it said knowingly. "I never thought I would meet you after Pater left you and your relations."

It was the way the vampire said 'wanna-be mixblood' that sparked recognition in Godric.

He had heard the description before.

But where…?

_Salazar._

Godric's eyes widened.

"You know Salazar?" he asked interested. Then the words of the vampire caught up to him and he fully understood _what _the vampire had told him.

"Wait – _Pater_? As in father? As in _Salazar _is your father?!" he asked with huge eyes. The vampire's eyes narrowed.

"And if he is?" it – no, _he_ asked and Godric had a feeling that if he would dare to say something against his friend, the vampire would use him as his next evening snack.

"I was searching for him!" Godric explained hurriedly. "I wanted to appologize! I acted like a dunderhead. I never thought the words I said through. I never wanted to hurt him and I was an idiot whose impressions of the purebloods were based on nothing but unfounded rumors and the fear of the unknown! I've been searching for him for the last two years and… and… Do you know where he is?"

The answer was a snort.

"The error of your ways?" it – no, _he_ repeated with disbelieve coloring his voice. "Did you, _really_ my dear wanna-be mixed blood?"

Godric frowned at the creature his friend had raised – no, his friend's _son._

"Yes, I did," he finally said, his eyes never leaving those silvery, uncanny eyes of the vampire. The next steps the vampire took were too fast for Godric to follow. One moment the vampire was still some feet away, the next it was in front of him, nose to nose, watching him with eyes that seemed to see more than normal eyes.

"I still don't think you understand, Godric, child of my uncle," the vampire said, its eyes looking into Godric's soul with a clarity that was as frightening as Salazar's deathly gaze could be.

"Believe me, Salazar's child, I know now that I looked at purebloods the wrong way. I know now that my bias was based in fear. I had my reasons to react like that," Godric whispered, but his eyes still stayed on the eyes of the vampire. He couldn't show weakness. Not in front of a creature that could kill him with its bare hands if it wanted to.

"You had your reasons?" Anastasius raised a single eyebrow at that. "Then tell me your reasons. Maybe I will forgive you and help you to find my father."

Godric opened his mouth to tell the vampire that he was an idiot, that he simply never new that Salazar was a pureblood as well and that his bias was founded in his unfounded fear of the unknown.

"My father was killed by the goblins," he said instead. "I was a lad of seven at that time. We were on the way home from my grandparents house. They killed my father because he was _there_. He wasn't even fighting them! They just came, saw him and killed him! My mother took me and my four year old sister and ran. She died the day after we reached my grandparents. Something about her being unable to live without her bonded! Purebloods… _purebloods _have done that! Can you truly blame me if I hate them after that? My sister might not remember – but _I_ do. I do!"

Godric stopped, surprised with himself for the answer he had given the vampire. He had not truly remembered that incident until his mouth had spoken for him those damning words of hate.

"You seem surprised," the vampire said, raising its eyebrow.

"I… I forgot that incident. It was years ago – way before I even met Salazar," Godric said. "I… how can I give you an answer like that if I never even remembered that incident actively?"

The silvery eyes of the vampire sparkled.

"Because I wanted to know the truth – and if a vampire wishes to know it there is no way to stop it from getting it."

Vampire abilities – at least this explained Godric's answer a bit.

"Is it wrong, to hate those purebloods?" he asked, his fists clenching while his eyes finally left those of the vampire to study everything but the being in front of him.

"Is it wrong to feel hate for the killers of my family?"

And Anastasius looked at him with understanding and wisdom in his eyes.

"I hate humans", Anastasius said, it was not an answer – but at the same time it was the only answer the vampire seemed to be able to give. "I was just a lad of three when my parents fell to their hatred. When my parents died because they decided that they wanted to raid the city we lived in. But as much as I want to hate them – I am unable to look at them and see nothing but monsters.

"Maybe I can't because when I look at them I see my father looking at me. For all its worth, my father should have hated me. I belonged to the very nation that killed his family – but he doesn't blame them. The romans were the reason his fathers, brother and uncles died. The romans are the reason why he still feels the pain of death sometimes – and he still took me in and loved me. I was a roman child when he found me – I might have been a roman vampire child, but still a roman. You cannot blame a whole nation for something a few of its people did."

This time Godric snarled, forgetting that his opponent was a vampire.

Instead the old feeling of hatred and fear found its way out and showed itself on his features – features that looked so much like Salazar's and were so different at the same time that it was uncanny.

"It is my right to blame them all for the death of my parents! Someone has to! If I don't – who will remember them?" he hissed. "Someone has to keep their legacy alive!"

"And yet you worked with my father for years. You even went to the goblins and interacted with them. Tell me what changed?"

"Nothing!"

"Did you maybe remember that you aren't different than them in the end? Did you fear to go against the current believes because you know deep down in your heart that there is nothing to distinguish between you and them?"

Godric just snarled again.

"I am absolutely different than a pureblood!"

"Are you? If you truly believe that – tell me the difference you are refering to, _cousin_," Anastasius voice was hammering away the shield Godric had build to shield himself from prejudice and pain. "Look in the mirror and tell me the difference between you and me – between my father and you!"

Godric opened his mouth – just to close it again with a snapping sound.

In his mind he saw Salazar's deathly green eyes.

_Godric's eyes._

In his mind he heard Salazar's voice telling him about a pureblood soul.

"_A pureblood has a hard soul. If they marry another pureblood the child is still a pureblood. It still has a hard soul. If said child marries another mixed-born pureblood, their child will still be a pureblood – a pureblood with four halfs of a different pureblood. _

"_If neither of the child's grandparents is the same pureblood the child will have four halfs of different souls. The soft soul of a mundane has no chance to add itself to a construct like that. It cannot interact with a full circle – and four soulparts build a full circle. Those children are the beginning of a line of Olde ones. _

_To add a mundane soul part would mean to destabilize said soul. It's just stable because all those soul parts are hard and easy to fit together. A soft soul part wouldn't act the same as the hard ones and in the end the soul wouldn't be able to stabilize itself. An Olde one cannot have a part of a mundane soul. They would not be born alive if they did. They are basically still Firbolg-born."_

And when Godric had ask how the conditions of the Olde lines added to this mix, Sal had just shrugged.

"_They are the tricker to manifest the soul of an Olde one. Your sister is a Firbolg-born because your mother obviously was a Firbolg and not a sorceress. But if your mother would have been a sorceress, your sister would never have been a Firbolg-born. She would have lost this part of her inheritance, because it was you who inherited the tricker. The inheritance of the abilities of an Olde one is tricky and there are few lines who are producing Olde ones to beginn with. Lines like yours. Lines like Peverell's will be if Helga and he will ever have children of their own."_

Anastasius was right.

Whatever argument Godric would try to utter – there was no difference between himself and a pureblood. _He _was a pureblood. Like Rowena was a pureblood, like Peverell was, like Godric's own little sister Helga was.

The knowing eyes of the vampire filled his vision.

"I… I can fight evil. I can fight those that want to destroy our world," Godric finally said, his eyes begging the vampire in front of him to forgive him, to understand him. "But I cannot fight prejudice. I cannot sit there and accept that they belittened me – just because I was born the same as this… this mass-murderer!

"I am strong – but I am not strong enough to stand up to the Gathering of the Lords and tell them they are idiots because I am the same as this mass-murderer they fear! Because my sister is the same! My wife! I cannot stand up to them because if I did they would come after my family instead! I know the fear that drives them! I felt that fear myself when the goblins killed my father! I cannot and I will not let them have a go at my family! If that means to forget what I am – so be it. If that means to anger those around be, so be it! As long as they are safe, I don't care!"

And it was the truth – a truth Godric had kept enclosed in his heart, a truth he had never considered, never actively known but had followed it nevertheless. He was a lion at heart – but even a lions priority was its pride.

And Godric would do anything for his pride – even let them hate him as long as they were safe.

And Godric would have been fine with their hatred if Salazar hadn't been. If Salazar hadn't confronted him and forced him to take a look at his own behavior. It might have begun with the wish to keep his family safe, but on the way he had forgotten his goal and had instead become what he tried to avoide.

_Salazar would never forgive him for that._

"And yet you are out here, searching for my father, ready to tell him that you are sorry, ready to give up everything just to get him back," Anastasius said in that moment.

Godric snorted, but this time self-hatred colored his voice.

"He was one of those people I tried to shield. What use has a shield if those shielded stand in front of it?" he asked.

The answer was a small smile.

"My father… Pater always was the one shielding. He doesn't take well to being shielded – especially not if others are in harms way because of the shield that is build to shield him," Anastasius said softly. "You cannot shield someone who has long since lost every kind of blindness to the cruelness of the world."

"Salazar still believes in those around him," Godric answered. "He always sees the best in them."

"And yet he was able to look at you and believe that you have lost your path. Pater might give everyone a fair chance – but he knows that people can be fickle. He was hurt because you turned on him, but he wasn't surprised that you did. _He_ knows it can happen. Pater has seen the bitter truth too often to be blind to it."

Godric stared at Salazar's child. In front of his inner eye he saw every interaction he ever had with Salazar. The other man had always acted nice and approachable. But at the same time there had been times in the past that told a different story. Godric just had never looked.

He had not understood Salazar's reaction when they gave him the name 'Slytherin'. Now, looking back he could see that Salazar had known that they would give up on him in the future. It seemed the moment they called him Slytherin he had known they would go against him some time in the future.

And Godric had been to blind to see that knowledge, that pain, at that time.

And Godric cursed himself for his blindness.

"Will he ever forgive us?" he asked nearly silently. "Will he ever forgive_ me_?"

The answer was a shrug.

"He will forgive you, cousin," Anastasius said. "Pater doesn't hold a grudge. But even if he forgives you – if he will ever trust you again is another thing."

For a moment Godric said nothing, then he nodded.

"It doesn't matter," he declared. "As long as I can say sorry I will be able to accept any punishment he bestows on me."

The answer this time was a bitter smile.

"I cannot help you, cousin," Anastasius said. "I know where he is – but even I can't reach him there."

"Why? Where is he?"

This time the vampire winced.

"He was captured by sorcerers two month ago," Anastasius said, guilt showing on his face. "It was my fault. I was careless and Pater had to help me to escape them. He wasn't strong enough to escape them, too."

And with those words the old feeling of fury rose in Godric's chest.

"Where?" he asked but Anastasius shook his head.

"Pater will kill me if I do something recless again – and bringing you along on a rescue mission counts as recless, I fear."

Godric snorted as an answer.

"I am a well-trained sorcerer. I know what I can and what I can't do!"

But the vampire just shook his head.

"Pater prohibited me to go on a rescue mission with just Gryffindors. He said something about 'if you ever dare to go somewhere dangerous solely with Godric I will use you and Godric in my next potion experiment as test subjects!'"

Godric winced.

"Maybe we should return to Haugh's Wards and ask Peverell and Rowena to come along… or Helga… better Helga. My wife would skin me alive if I suggested something like that. Maybe its because she's expecting?" he finally suggested. "Anyway, that should rescue us from becoming test subjects."

And as much as Godric wanted to free his friend – he definitely wouldn't dare to go against an order like that. He knew too well that Salazar did not just threaten with things. He would follow up with his threat if someone dared to disobey him.

Anastasius just hesitated a moment, then he nodded.

"Good idea, cousin," he said. "Very good idea."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Ya belong ta Haugh's Wards, don't ya?" the voice that spoke to Sal was hated by him now. Ever since he had freed his son from the hands of those man and had been captured instead, they had tried to use him to their own benefit.

They had soon found out who he was – they had forced a truth serum down his throad. The truth serum was no Veritasserum, that didn't exist yet, but it was a strong enough truth serum that he had been forced to tell them he was 'Salazar Slytherin'.

Two years he had been away from Haugh's Wards now, touring the world, healing like he had done for centuries – and they still tried to use him to gain access to it.

"I'm sure ya know that castle like no one else. We're searchin' for somethin' an' I'm sure ye know where ta find it," the man in front of Salvazsahar said.

"Ya're Slytherin, aren't ya?" one of the rest of the men said. The first speaker and his men had captured Sal, bound and blinded him with a cloth after he had rescued his careless, curious son from them. Just a few days before that rescue, Sal had still worked himself nearly to death by trying to help a village against a plague. Sal had been at the village and its neighbour-villages for the last two and a half months, fighting against dragon pox. It had been draining and agonizing on his body and Sal had been happy when he had finally been able to move on – still drained because of his extended use of sterilisation runes and other magics but sure that the villages would survive.

The villages would, but thanks to Anastasius curiousity Sal had not been able to move on like he wanted. Instead he had followed the bond he shared with his curious and recless son – a bond that had told him his son was in danger and unable to rescue himself – until he had reached the fortress in which he was captured now. He had been forced to enter said fortress, his bond telling him that there was no time to ask for help, and then had searched the castle until he found his son, fed him his blood, healed him and finally forced him to leave without Sal when it had become clear that they wouldn't be both able to escape capture.

So instead of being able to wander again, he was now in the hands of those thugs.

"Hey, I talked t'ya!" the leader – or who Sal thought was the leader – said and in the next moment Sal felt his cheek sting after being slapped. Sal just hissed at the man. He was angry with himself. He knew long before he reached the fortress that he was in no condition to help his son. He had been tired and drained after treating the plague for two month. But at the same time he knew that he hadn't been able to do something different. Anastasius, is curious, stupidly recless child, would have died if he hadn't come when he had. And Sal would prefere death to the death of his own child.

The next slap Sal received made his head spin.

"If ya don't want t'feel my hand again, speak!" the man growled.

Sal spat at him, but answered anyway.

"And if I _was_ Slytherin, what would you do?" he asked coolly.

The answer was a hearty laugh by the still invisible man – Sal cursed his luck that they had bound and blinded him. He was too exhausted to use normal magic without his wand so family magic – the only magic that could have helped him – was definitely out. Sal needed time, rest and nurishment to recover, but being in the hands of those thugs would give him none of that…

"I heard that Haugh's Wards was once Camelot," the man said and Sal could just hear the invisible evil grin. "My master want ta have the castle. It's rightfully his, ya know?"

Sal spit at him.

Regretfully he missed.

Another slap in his face was the answer – but Sal had gone through worse since his capture.

"O' course there's the graves, too, ya know? The graves o' Arthur, the traitor and o' Mordred, the Great!"

"As if I would give people like you access to my family's graves!" Sal answered with a hiss. "You and your master might think yourselves above the normal sorcerers, but you aren't! You have no right to access my home!"

The answer was a punch in his gut.

Sal spit blood at them, not caring for his injury. It wouldn't be the first time in the last two months that he nearly died in their tender care.

"I heard ya taught a lot o' children o' the Lords of the Gatherin'," the man said in that moment, trying another tactic – as if Salvazsahar would give in to something like that. "And I heard ya 'n'ya comrades're rich. I'm sure we can find a way t'share ya gold between us poor people. And I'm sure ya'll be willing t'aid us in finding a way into Haugh's Wards. Ye know, ta the grave o' Mordred, the Great!"

This time Sal spat him in the face – and he was pretty sure he didn't miss this time around because the man cursed and then slapped him again.

Sal kicked the man in the shien.

The answer was a harsh punsh in Sal's gut, followed by a gag.

"And I thought ya'd cooperate more with us, now after ya've been thrown out o' Haugh's Wards…" the man said. "Well, we've ways t'make ya cooperate."

The next weeks were again pure torture for Sal – literally, to his utter regret. They broke and shattered his bones, they burned him, they slithed his skin and nearly drowned him – some of the treatment was new, some of it he had experienced before. Sal wasn't even sure how often they nearly killed him that time around. The only thing he knew that he cursed his cursed life and his inabilty to die more than once – not that they truly noticed when they once truly killed him. He stayed dead too shortly for them to notice.

Nevertheless, Sal was sure that if he wouldn't have been stubborn by nature they would have broken him in spirit long ago. Regrettably Sal had never done what another person wanted if he saw no reason to do so. And agony was no reason.

That fact he had learned a long time ago, on the day he died the first time. The weeks while his heart healed itself were by far worse in pain than anything they could do to him – especially if they tried to 'keep him alive'.

"Well," the man said. It was their dayly ritual after another torture session. "Do ya want t'talk now?"

Sal just hissed through his gag.

"Well, maybe ya'll talk if I show ya this," the man said and the first time in three months the blinding was taken from Sal's eyes and Sal's head was turned so that he could see a young boy sitting in the corner. The boy was pale and bruised, blood was colouring one of his cheeks and his clothes red.

Sal knew the boy.

It was one of his Slytherins.

"Myrddin Wylt," his mind supplied. "The boy's name is Myrddin Wylt."

In the same moment fury rose in Sal's chest. He had never been a teacher to the boy but even with him out of Haugh's Wards he had taken care in knowing every child that entered the academia. He knew every child who was in Slytherin and he knew that the boy had been taken home by his parents shortly before Sal had been captured by those thugs. The lad's grandfather had been dying and had wished to see the lad a last time before he died and so Myrddin Wylt had left Haugh's Wards to comply with his grandfather's wishes.

"Ah, it seems ya recognize the lad," the man said triumphantly. "So, if ya don't want the lad t'suffer what ya've suffered so far, ya'll do as we want ya to!" And his hands grabbed Sal's hair and turned Sal's gaze so that Sal could look him in the eyes.

A mistake on the man's part.

A grave one.

Fury fueled Sal's magic, his green eyes showing the fire of the Phoenix.

And the fire of the Phoenix was unforgiving, unforgiving like the basilisk in Salvazsahar's blood.

And from the deathly green eyes the second, unseen lid flew open, setting free the fire within those deadly eyes.

The man had not even time to react. One moment he thought himself the winner, the next he was laying on the floor, his eyes open and broken, dead.

A basilisk gave no second chances.

And the basilisk was powerful in Salvazsahar's blood.

Sal moaned, tiredly. He had not eaten even once a week since he had been captured and he had lost a lot of blood – not good for someone who practiced blood-magic. Sorcerers using a wand were not as connected with their magic as someone who practiced blood-magic. Practicing blood-magic meant that Sal's body and magic were intervined on a far higher level than by a normal sorcerer – having lost as much blood as he had and being starved, beaten and dehydrated was definitely contraproductive for a druid's magic.

Still, when two other men entered the dungeon they had hidden Sal away in just a few seconds after Sal had killed the first, they met the same fate like their leader.

No mercy, the basilisk cried.

No mercy, the Phoenix called.

And Salvazsahar had learned long ago that even as a healer he couldn't show mercy to thugs like them.

Then Sal heated his arms with his magic.

He was panting, doing so. It was utterly draining. At least he could use magic again. He hadn't been able to do so when he had been captured – still too drained to even think about using magic after his excessive use the two month before and the feeding of his child his blood just minutes before.

Sal also knew that it wouldn't take long for him until he was again unable to use his inheritance. He was too hurt and too tired to keep it up. It was only the desperate wish to protect his student that fuelt his magic at the moment – definitely not ideal but Sal didn't care. He himself had suffered through death before, being tortured to death was not as bad as dying by a destroyed heart had been, but Myrddin Wylt was a child – and Sal would be damned if he let those thugs torture a helpless little twelve-year-old.

In that moment the bindings on his arms fell to the floor. Sal winced when his arms were freed. They were cramped and hurt – but he could not tend to himself now. He needed to get the child out of here before the other men returned.

So Sal ignored his pain and instead freed himself from the gag and stood.

"Mryddin," he hissed, his voice sounded more like a snake's than his usual voice but he had no energy to form words beyond the rhasping hiss he produced. The boy looked up at him with huge eyes. Sal stumbled over to where the boy sat and freed the child from its bindings. "Stand up! We need to go!"

"Who are you?" the lad was clearly terrified and Sal winced inwardly when he suddenly remembered that the lad had seen him kill those people.

"Salazar Slytherin," he finally settled on saying, hoping that the lad had heard positive things about him in his house and not negative ones.

The lad's huge, admiring eyes suggested that at least Slytherin still held him in high regard.

"Now, stand up lad, we have to go!"

"What about my parents, sir?" the boy asked, fear lacing his eyes.

_The parents._

_They also had the lad's parents._

Sal guessed that the parents were long dead by now, but he asked the lad anyway:

"Where're they?" Sal rhasped.

"I… I don't know," the boy answered. "We were separated by those… those men. I… mum… I have no idea were my parents are now…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"You're telling me, you need me and my _pregnant_ wife to go with you because you _might_ have a lead concerning Salazar?" Godric cringed when Peverell looked at him sneering. It seemed as if Peverell was less than pleased with what Godric had found out.

"Well… we might help to storm the fortress he is captured in…" he hesitatingly tried to explain.

"And you need my_ heavily pregnant_ wife for that, Godric?"

"Er… well… we could take Row…"

"So instead of my heavily pregnant wife we take yours? Great idea, Godric. That's so much better!"

"Er… yes… well…"

"No," to Godric's relieve Anastasius finally had mercy on him. "We just need someone who isn't a Gryffindor – so you alone would be enough, actually."

Peverell raised his eyebrow at that declaration.

"You need someone who isn't a Gryffindor," he repeated, disbelief colouring his voice.

Anastasius nodded eagerly.

"Pater forbid me to come to his rescue if I'm solely backed up by Gryffindors."

For a moment Peverell stared at him as if Anastasius had gone insane. Then he pinched his nose and sighed.

"How sure are you that he's captured in there and that he's still…" he stopped midsentence. "Actually, forget the second part. There is no way he died."

"So you're helping us?" Godric asked eagerly, clearly ready to bounce back to where he had come from just minutes ago.

"I asked how sure you are that he's the…"

"Absolutely," Anastasius interrupted him. "He rescued me from there but wasn't able to escape himself afterwards."

Peverell frowned.

"That doesn't sound like the Salazar I know. He would never go in there if he didn't know a way to come out whole on the other side."

"Well, Pater hadn't had time to think about that or anything," Anastasius said, wincing. "I was in a little bit of trouble in there and if he hadn't come at the time he came I wouldn't be alive anymore, you know?"

Peverell just frowned at the vampire in front of him.

"And you are?"

"Anastasius Sanguini. Salvazsahar is my father."

It acutally took a moment to connect the different sounding name to Salazar, then Peverell pinched his nose again.

"No wonder Salazar was always able to keep Godric out of trouble. He had obviously a lot of practice while raising you!"

Anastasius just shrugged and looked at him a little bit guilty.

"Maybe?" he finally offered and Peverell sighed.

"I can't believe I'll go with two recless Gryffindor's to rescue a snake."

"Snake?" Anastasius asked, clearly not understanding. Peverell just shrugged.

"His character is definitely sake-like. He knows how to turn everything to his benefits and strucks you when you think of it the least."

For a moment, Anastasius thought that over, then he nodded.

"You're right. Seems to fit," he declared. "You coming?"

Peverell just sighed again, but then nodded.

It took them another hour until they cloud finally leave. Peverell after all had to tell Rowena and Helga where he was going first and then still had to pack. Both women weren't exactely happy with them but both of them understood that there was no way they would let Salazar suffer at the hands of men who were clearly enemies.

And so they started their wandering towards the fortress Salazar was caputered in – and they had to wander. Apparation, floo or port-keys weren't invented at that time, after all.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Salvazsahar maybe wouldn't have been able to rescue himself and Myrddin Wylt from the fortress they were imprisoned in, if a distraction wouldn't have occurred just seconds after Sal was able to open the door to the dungeons.

They had just reached the lived-in part of the castle and Sal had feared that they would have no chance to cross this part without being seen and being captured again. If Sal was truthful, he had long since expected to be captured again – as long as Myrddin would have time to flee, Sal was alright with dying again and again at the hands of those monsters.

But now, with the distraction, there might be a way for them to escape both – and Sal had to give it. The distraction definitive was one of the bigger scale.

The earth shook beneath their feet and power surged through the air when a second huge bold of lightning embodied itself in the middle of the fortress, roasting a lot of the sorcerers who protected the walls. The first one had hit the main tower. The roove was in flames and the walls were staggering. Just a few minutes and they would break down fully.

"By Myrddin, Peverell!" Sal heard a voice he hadn't heard for two years, exclaiming in utter disbelieve. "What did you do just now?"

_Godric._

_Godric was here._

For a moment, utter relieve flooded Salvazsahar's venes, then dread settled into his stomach. How would Godric react if he saw him after all this time? They hadn't parted in friendship after all and Sal was in no condition to fight against him again.

Still, those two were his way out – and if he had to die by Godric's hands to get Myrddin Wylt to safety, then he would die gladly.

"I'm the son of a thunderbird, you dolt! I might be able to perform magics like you do with a wand but as I'm half-thunderbird I'm able to use lightning if I truly want it! And now get out of my way, you useless sorcerer!"

_Peverell._

_A clearly unhappy Peverell._

_Why, by earth and fire, were those two even here?_

_Myrddin Wylt, mayhap?_

In that moment the next lightning stroke the fortress.

"Better keep going, Myrddin!" Sal adviced and pushed the lad along. The lad just stared at him blankly.

"What about my parents, sir?" he asked.

"We have to get you out of here, lad," Sal answered. "I promise I'll look for them if we have time and you are safe, child."

"But," the boy started to protest, but Sal just yanked him along, hoping to find Peverell and Godric before those two brought down the castle around them.

_Had those two never heard something about doing a rescue mission silently?_

"Stop your attack or I will kill my prisoners!"

Sal stopped running and pushed Myrddin against the stones of one of the towers so that they weren't seen. On the walls stood a man – obviously the lord of the castle – and in his hands he helt the hair of a woman who clearly had been subjected to the cruelty of his men.

"MUM!" Salvazsahar tried to hold the boy, but he clearly hadn't enough muscles anymore to stop the child. So instead of stopping Myrddin Wylt, the child escaped his grasp and stormed towards the woman and the lord.

"Myrddin!"

Sal reached out to the boy, desperate to catch him again, but his hands – hands that once had been able to catch the snitch so securely – missed the child and Sal could just watch it running out of hiding towards danger.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"So tell me, Godric, how did you plan to enter this castle?" Peverell asked when they finally reached their destination. The castle looked forbidding and dark.

Godric just shrugged.

"Knocking, maybe?" he suggested. Peverell stared at his friend as if he had never seen him before.

"Knocking?" he repeated. "Knocking! We're here to break out a prisoner and you think that the right way doing it, is by knocking on the door? Have you finally gone insane, Godric?"

Anastasius next to them sniggered.

"At least now I know why I was forbidden to go on a rescue-mission with only Gryffindors as my back-up," he said.

Peverell turned to the vampire.

"Don't tell me you also would have knocked?" he sounded absolutely horrified. Anastasius answered him with an odd look on his face.

"What else?" he said. "It's definitively the easiest way to catch their attention."

Peverell just burried his head in his hands and groaned.

"I never thought that someone as causious as Salazar would be able to raise a child like you!"

The answer was another unconcerned shrug from Anastasius.

"Pater said he was once as forward as I am now and that I will learn in time to do things differently," he tried to reassure the other man. Peverell just sighed.

"Well – if you want to knock on the door so badly, do me a favor and let me do it at least," he finally said while his mind made up a plan that should work even with two careless and reckless idiots like Godric and Anastasius as a back-up.

"And what's different if you knock on the door instead of us?" Godric asked him frowning.

"I do it with a bigger bang," Peverell answered and then knelt down on the earth. He emptied his mind like he always did before going to bed and concentrated on a hidden part of his personality. The hidden part he had inherited from his parents – a hidden part that most of the sorcerers had forgotten how to use a long time ago.

"What are you doing?" Godric asked him. "You can't knock on the door if you're sitting here in the gras, half a mile away from the fortress…"

Peverell ignored him because in that moment he found what he was searching for in his mind. His last weapon. The last thing his magic would resort to if he was ever threatened and unable to defend himself. Unlike Sal's abilities, Peverell's were never awakened and so he was unable to actually fully control them. But Peverell was the son of two purebloods – he had learned to harvest his blood-born ability even without the advantages of blood-magic and the full control over it that came with this advantage.

"Peverell?"

And that was the moment Peverell let go of the power within him. The sky darkened and then a huge lightning struck the main tower. A second lightning followed just seconds later and roasted a lot of their enemies before those even understood that Peverell, Godric and Anastasius were there.

"By Myrddin, Peverell!" Godric exclaimed with huge eyes. "What did you do just now?"

The answer was a laughter. It wasn't Peverell laughing, but Anastasius.

"Whatever it is – it is the best distraction ever!" he crawed. "I'm of, rescuing Pater!" And with that Peverell was left alone to deal with an absolutely flabbergasted Godric.

Another lightning struck the fortress, and then the lord of the castle came, in his hands a woman and on his lips a threat.

"Myrddin!"

_Salazar's voice._

And Peverell suddenly knew that whatever the day would bring today, it would never be the same afterwards.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Godric stared at the other Lords of the Gathering. It had been a month after Peverell, Anastasius and he had attacked the fortress.

The last thing that Godric had heard from Salazar was a message of his son that they had been able to escape the fortress thanks to their help. Godric had written back and begged Salazar to finally return home, but the reply had been from Anastasius again, telling him that Salazar would and could not for the time being. And Godric had ripped the sheat of parchment into shreds, crying and begging for forgivness. And Peverell had stood next to him and told him that it was Salazar's decision. If the other man was still not able to forgive him, Godric had to accept it and would have to live with it.

And so Godric had decided to stand his man and to live up to his new believes of equality of beings, even if he was absolutely outnumbered in the Gathering of the Lords.

Since Salazar had vanished, the Lords had started to insist that they should have a say in the processes of the academia. Godric hated it. It was as if without Salazar the Lords thought they had the right to influence the proceedings in the academia, just because there was no lord of the land.

"The lands of the academia should be searched and every pureblood found on it should be banished before they can hurt our children," one of the Lords said coolly in that moment, ignoring Peverell who grimaced when hearing his words.

"You have no right to decide that!" Godric objected heatedly. "The lands don't belong to anyone but…"

"Wherever Slytherin is, he is gone for over two years! He gave up his ancestral home for the academia, if he's gone now we have every right to…"

"Don't you dare to finish this sentence!" Godric interrupted fuming. "Peverell and I have taken over the academia as long as Salazar is gone! It is our right to…"

"There is no guaranty, no evidence that he is still alive! He has no heirs so there is no one who can inherit! The castle is his legacy to us! It is our right to decide what happen with the academia!" Lord Gaunt said coolly.

The answer was a snarl from Godric.

_Oh how he wished he had seen Salazar when they rescued him from this hounted castle! If he had he would have been able to truly declare that Salazar was alright and returning soon!_

"The castle belongs to Salazar. He might have vanished two years ago, but this is no evidence that he died!" Peverell said calmly.

"There also is no evidence that he is still alive!" Lord Gaunt hissed. "I say we should assume that he died and turn over the castle into our hands!"

Godric gawked at the man. He could not believe what he was hearing! They wanted to steal Salazar's inheritance just because the man had vanished? He had known that the lords had wanted influence but he couldn't believe that they tried that now – now while Peverell and himself were still there!

"Salazar is still alive!" he said fuming. "We heard of his well-being just a month ago!"

"That's what you say!" Lord Gaunt countered. "Where's the evidence of your words? As long as he doesn't come back the castle should be given to us!"

"The castle…" Peverell began, but before he could speak further another voice interrupted him. The voice was cool, nearly icy and controlled.

"Even if I would have died, the castle would have never fallen in the hands of the Gathering," the voice said softly. As if they were one man, the Lords of the Gathering flinched and shifted to look at the entrance. There stood a man, wearing a roughed up, green tunic. Next to him stood another hooded man and a child of maybe twelve. Then the man made another step forward and the light of the candles exposed his face to the Lords of the Gathering.

_Salazar._

_Salazar_ was back.

"L-Lord Slytherin!" the stutter was heard not only on the lips of one lord. Salazar sneered at all of them.

"I cannot believe that you tried to get influence in the academia when you should know that there is no way that I would ever leave the school to the Gathering," Salazar sneered.

The answer was a frown from Lord Gaunt.

"You have no wife and no heir, so who should inherit when you die?" he asked Salazar.

It was that question that reminded Godric of the last time he had seen – well, not truly seen, but seen nonetheless – Salazar and he spoke up before Salazar could say anything.

"Salazar has a son," he said. The answer was a laugh from the stranger next to Salazar.

"Indeed, he has," the stranger said.

And Godric could see the eyes of the lords wandering to the child next to Salazar.

Salazar just put one of his hands on the shoulder of the little boy next to him – a boy that Godric had seen before, but for the love of everything holy, he couldn't place the child.

"A son?" Lord Selwyn asked hesitatingly.

"Two sons," Salazar corrected as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Godric blinked surprised.

_Two?_

_Where, in Myrddin's name, did the second one come from?_

"Myrddin Slytherin here is the younger one," Salazar added, brushing back the hood that had shielded his son's face from the gaze of the Gathering. "He is my heir. The heir of Slytherin."

And when the boy looked up, Godric finally recognized the child.

Myrddin Wylt.

The boy who had returned home to say good-bye to his dying grandfather. The boy who had never returned.

_At least the child was safe._

"_Myrddin _Slytherin?" Lord Gaunt repeated sneering. "Did you truly think it prudent to name a child after the greatest mage in history?"

Salazar just snorted.

It was funny that over the decades, the other lords again had forgotten about Salazar Slytherin's origins and many of them had long accepted that 'Slytherin' as Sal's true last name. Sal's true name, Emrys, instead had become a legendary myth again.

Of course, Salazar had never named the child. But Myrddin's former parents had never been part of the Gathering, so no one except the children in Haugh's Wards had ever heard the lad's name before.

"He was named after his grandfather, Lord Gaunt," he said and the lad's eyes snapped up to stare at his new father in surprise. It seemed that Salazar was willing to pretend that the child had always been his to secure the child's standing in the Gathering. "Do you always criticize the names of the other lord's heirs, Lord Gaunt?"

The other man had the grace to look ashamed.

The answer was a snort from the still hooded man behind Salazar.

"It seems, my fledgeling, they have forgotten your ancestry," the man said.

Salazar just turned and frowned at the man.

"And I still don't get why you even bothered to come here with me," he countered. "Anastasius did not even argue with me half as much as you did when I said no."

"Well, Ana is your egg, my fledgeling. You are mine. I have the right to come if I think that it's too dangerous for you to walk here alone."

Salazar snorted.

"Don't lie to me, Grandfather. It was Grandmother's wish that brought you here."

Lord Selwyn who had opened his mouth to argue against the foreign man's presence, snapped it shut again when he heard Salazar addressing the man.

If the title of the other man wasn't just an honorific, the man had every right to be here because even if Sal was the current lord, the grandfather had to have been the lord long before him.

"Yes, well, maybe we should continue with the Gathering," Lord Selwyn finally stuttered instead. Salazar and his grandfather both turned to look at the first lord of the Gathering. Then the grandfather threw back his hood and looked at the lord with a federal grin and eyes golden, burning with flames.

Lord Selwyn shuddered under the red haired stranger's gaze.

Godric shuddered as well.

There was just one description that fit Salazar's grandfather perfectly.

_Not human._

The man, whatever he was, was not human.

"I don't think that we should continue this… _gathering_… as if nothing transpired," the grandfather said smiling coolly. "My name is Fawarx and I am here to chew you out and to tell you exactly what will happen if you ever, _ever_ think of breaking one of your laws ever again – especially if this law contains my grandson's ancestral home."

"We're dead," Godric just nodded to Peverell's optimistic point of view of the near future.

"Dead as a door nail," he confirmed.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Salvazsahar watched with hidden amusement Fawarx, his grandfather, while said individual slowly and painfully disentsected the Lords of the Gathering with his words alone.

They had it coming.

Sal had heard rumours about them trying to get control over the castle since the day he left – but for the last four months and a half their attempts had reached a new hight and Sal was not too sure if not one of the Lords of the Gathering was the reason for his imprisionment in the fortress. He had no evidence, of course, but that their attempts had picked up at that time meant that at least one of the lords had to have known of Sal's predictment.

Of course said lord had never thought of Sal surviving the experience.

But Sal had survived.

It had been critical at the moment, Myrddin had escaped his grasps and had run towards the man who held his mother prisoner – but they had survived.

The lord of the castle had seen Myrddin running out of the shadows and had killed the woman in his hands, and maybe he also would have killed Myrddin that day if Anastasius wouldn't have acted in that moment and pounced him.

It had been Ana who killed the lord of the castle, but it had been the unexpected arriving Fawarx who stopped Myrddin's run into danger.

And it had been Fawarx who had taken them all away after Anastasius had told Godric and Peverell that they were safe.

Now, after a time of healing, they finally were able to return. Sal had dreaded his return but his grandmother had talked him into confronting the others until he finally had given in just to have his peace again.

Sal had thought the Gathering would be a good place to start over. He had taken Myrddin with him and his grandfather had followed them as well. And it had been Salvazsahar who had decided to introduce the child as his son.

It wasn't true.

Myrddin had not been officially adopted in his family, but Sal knew how greedy some of the lords were and Myrddin was a powerful individual. You could feel his power radiading off of him without even trying to sense it. Sal knew that if he had stated that Myrddin was an orphan a lot of the lords in the Gathering would have tried to take in the child as a ward – and then would have married of the boy to one of their daughters. A magical powerful child like Myrddin would be a bonus to every sorcerer line.

Sal couldn't accept that the boy would have no choice – so the only way to give the boy a choice was to claim him as an heir.

"But maybe," Sal thought to himself, inwardly grimacing. "Maybe I should have talked to the child first."

The boy was looking at him with an odd look, distrust clearly visible in his eyes. So when Fawarx started to rant, Sal had bowed down to the child and whispered.

"I explain later."

The boy just looked at him for a moment, then the child gave a short nod and Sal's attention turned back to his grandfather.

The phoenix had meanwhile reduced the whole Gathering nearly to tears – or at least to the guilty look of a child with the hands still in the cookie jar.

Those lords definitely wouldn't step a toe out of line anymore – Sal was sure of that when he saw the first one of the lords reduced to guilty tears.

Ouch.

But what had he expected from an enraged phoenix?

"At least there are no flames," Sal thought wriley.

Then Lord Gaunt spluttered and stated that it had been their right as the Lords of the Gathering, to rule the school after 'Salazar Slytherin's' death.

"At least for now," Sal corrected, eyeing warily the soft glowing fingertips of his grandfather's right hand.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

In the end, Godric concluded, they had survived the rage of Salazar's grandfather.

Barley, but they had.

The Gathering had stopped early after the lords had been criticized sharply for their actions against the academia of Haugh's Wards, Salazar himself and pure-bloods in general. And the only thing Godric could say after that, was that Salazar's grandfather definitely had to be a venomous snake.

_Something deadly._

_Like a cobra._

_Or a basilisk._

So when Godric slowly dared to come near Salazar after the Gathering had dissolved, he kept a close eye on the other man.

Sal just raised an eyebrow when he saw Godric's actions.

"Still prejudiced against Firbolgs?" he asked coolly, when Godric was finally near enough to not be overheard by other lords of the Gathering.

Godric blinked.

_Why would Salazar think that…?_

It was in that moment that he remembered Salazar's words about the blood-status of his grandparents.

_Purebloods._

_They were purebloods._

"Acutally I'm more afraid that your grandfather will bite me if I dare to come near you," Godric corrected nervously. "He took apart the Gathering of the Lords for less than I did, after all."

The answer was again a raised eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

"Er… yes," Godric said, still eyeing the pureblood who was now lowly talking with the child that Salazar brought with him. Salazar's son.

"What is he? A basilisk?" Godric finally dared to ask.

Salazar snorted.

"A phoenix," he corrected and Godric spluttered.

"You're… you're joking, aren't you?" he exclaimed and his eyes finally turned to look at the other man. "There's no way he's a phoenix! Phoenixi are light creatures – they shouldn't threaten to rip out the throat of a man if said man doesn't abide their rules!"

This time a small smile played over his once-friend's face.

"Is that so?" Salazar asked. "And I thought I grew up with a phoenix around, and not you."

"Er…" this time Godric definitely didn't know what to say. But it seems that Salazar knew exactely what he wanted to hear from Godric's lips.

"And maybe now, that I have endulced in your curiosity, you might think about telling me why you suddenly decided to be civil to me again. After all, as far as I know, I am still a monster in your eyes."

Godric gulped and his eyes searched those of his one-time-friend – just to find those emeralds looking back with a gaze like death.

Godric gulped again.

"I… I… I…," he stopped. His brows slowly wettened with sweat and his breathing quickened. He knew that if he didn't explain himself now, Salazar would never look at him ever again. This was his last chance.

"I…," his lips were dry and the eyes of the other still as unforgiving as the endless sea. "I'm sorry."

He stopped again. He didn't know what to say. When he had talked to Anastasius it had been so easy, but standing in front of Salazar now, all his explanations, all his reasoning had vanished into thin air.

"I was a prejudiced dunderhead with nothing in his mind but the past and the idiotic idea that if I denied the truth it would keep you and the others safe."

"Safe from what?" the unforgiving eyes asked.

"Safe from… safe from… safe from everyone, alright? I know how people can start to hate others if they have free reign and I was a coward and took the coward's way out! I should have stood up for us and shouldn't have tried to deny who I am!"

And with that the other man's eyes softened.

"Who you are?" he asked and Godric suddenly felt the hope for forgivness again.

"Yes," he said, reddening. "I might have tried to deny it, but I am a pureblood just like you and I should have never tried to act as if I'm different. I'm sorry, Salazar, truly sorry for the grieve I caused you and I know that you might not be able to forgive me but please, come back to Haugh's Wards! Come back home!"

For a moment those green, green eyes – mirrors of Godric's own – stared at him in icy judgement, then finally Sal inclined his head.

"I will return," he said and Godric deflated in relieve. "But I won't come alone. It seems that my family is determinded to make sure that you have changed before even thinking about leaving me alone with you again."

This time Godric shuddered inwardly.

He definitely didn't look forward to a basilisk-like phoenix joining them at Haugh's Wards. Anastasius, he could handle, but Fawarx?

"Er… is your grandmother coming as well?" he finally dared to ask.

The answer was a snort.

"Of course she is," Salazar said and then turned to his grandfather, leaving Godric to explain their adition at Haugh's Wards to Perverell. "And don't worry about her. She is just a basilisk."

_Just a basilisk._

_No wonder Salazar and Fawarx could be so venomous. It seemed that Basilisk genes did indeed always win out – even when someone originally didn't have them. It seems you could inherit them just by being near a Basilisk after all…_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

And return, Salvazsahar did – just in time to help Rowena giving birth to Godric's heir and his beloved baby girl.

It was not something that Sal had expected to do when he returned to Haugh's Wards.

From Peverell he had heard that Rowena and Helga both weren't at the Gathering because they were in their last two month of pregnancy, but he had thought that there still would be some time until the first of those two woman gave birth.

Unluckily there wasn't and so, instead of returning to his quarters to move back in, Sal was ushered to Rowena's rooms for childbirth.

It wasn't the first child he brought to the world but it definitely was something different if the woman giving birth was a close friend.

And it definitely was something different if it turns out that the child would be a twin.

"You know, Rowena, that I originally planed to move back in before looking after you," Sal said conversionally when he was ushered into the woman's bedroom.

The answer was a snort.

"I thought you needed some practice before starting here at Haugh's Wards again," Rowena countered, but her complexion was pale and her forehead sweaty.

Sal just chuckled.

"Aye, as if I'll help to give birth very often here at the academia," he commented mildly amused while he checked her over. Her pulse was a little bit too fast and she was a little bit too pale, but she seemed to be right enough.

Then he checked over her womb and his eyebrows twitched.

"Twins?" he said and Rowena smiled weakly.

"It seems you are indeed a healer if you can establish that," she said mockingly.

The answer was a snort while Sal's hands checked if the baby was in the right position for birth.

"It seems its all in order," he told her. "You have to push soon."

The labour was a long process. The twins were Rowena's first children and in the end it nearly took her twenty hours until even the first was born.

It was a boy.

After Sal had checked him over he cleaned him, wrapped him into a blanket and then brought him over to Godric who was standing anxiously next to his wife.

"Your son," he told him and Godric stared at the baby in horror. When he tried to give him over, Godric stepped back two steps.

Sal raised his eyebrow, a clear question in his eyes and Godric cracked.

"I can't take him!" he exclaimed with horror in his voice. "What if I break him? What if I drop him? What if…"

Sal snorted and then grabbed Godric with his free hand and before the man could object again, he placed the baby into Godric's arms.

"You won't break him," he said with a snort. "You wouldn't dare. Your wife would kill you if you did."

Godric gulped and his face ashened.

"Not funny, Salazar!" he exclaimed but his face softened when he looked down at the child in his arms.

"Does he have a name, yet?" Sal asked while he checked Rowena and the second child still in her womb. It seemed that this one would still take a little bit before it was born.

"No," Godric answered. "Well, yes, from my side but it's Rowena's right to give him his first name so I have no idea what he will be called in the end."

Sal just nodded.

"What is your name-choice for him?" he asked.

"Arthur," Godric answered. "I will call him Arthur after my ancestor."

"Arthur?" Sal just send a short look over his shoulder. Peverell, Helga and Anastasius had entered the room. It seemed as if they had heard the first screams of the baby.

"You'll name your boy _Arthur,_ really?" Anastasius exclaimed. "Isn't that a huge name to grow into? I mean with him being Arthur Pendragon's heir and all that…"

Sal just pressed his lips together, not correcting his son about the fact that it was _Sal_ and not the baby who was Arthur Pendragon's heir.

"Arthur'll be his second name," Godric corrected. "It's Rena's choice how he will be called, and knowing her it will be something outlandish."

The woman in the bed smiled at that.

"I haven't decided, yet," she said. "But I was thinking about Gaius or Sophokles."

Anastasius grimaced.

"Really?" he asked. "If you want to use Latin or Greek names, can't you choose better ones than those?"

Rowena turned her exhaused face to face Anastasius.

"If you don't like them, what would you choose?"

Anastasius just shrugged.

"Maybe something like Lucius, Theodore or Nicholaos – not some names that come from British wanna-be conquerers or Greek know-it-alls."

Sal just sighed when he heard this exclamation.

This was definitely typical Anastasius. If there was a way to put his foot in his mouth, he always found it.

To his surprise Rowena just looked at Anastasius thoughtfully.

"Nicholaos – what does it mean?" she asked.

Anastasius just shrugged.

"Something along the line of 'victor of the people'," he answered. "I heard it when I travelled to Athene."

"Do you also know some girl's names or other boy's names?" Rowena asked interested.

The time between the first and the second birth was soon filled with Anastasius telling Rowena names he had heard on his travels.

Sal himself had heard a lot of those names as well but he let his son do the explaining and instead took the time to relax a little bit before he would have to help in the second birth again.

The second birth luckily did not even take half as long as the first one.

This time around it was a girl.

"Helena," Rowena decided. She had liked the name when Anastasius had mentioned it – not that she hadn't heard it before in Greek myths. She just hadn't thought of it until Anastasius mentioned it. "Nicholaos and Helena."

"Nicholaos Arthur and Helena Morgana," Godric said.

Then both parents looked expectantly at Salvazsahar.

"What?" he asked.

"You're the godfather. You have the right to choose their last first name," Rowena said. She was still pale and obviously tired but it was clear that she wanted to wait with sleep until her children were named.

Sal's eyes widened when he heard that.

"Er… I never named anyone," he said nervously.

Godric just shrugged.

"It's easy," he said. "Just choose a name."

"Er…"

"Maybe you could use a name of some loved one you have lost," Helga added when she saw Sal fridgeting.

Sal stared at her, then back at the babies.

_Names._

_He had to give them names._

_And there was no one who could do it for him. It was his decision. His alone._

He gulped.

_What should he name them?_

The two names he would have thought of, Godric had used them already. _So what else could he name them?_

_How had his own parents decided on his name?_

It was that last thought that brought back the memories of not only Myrddin Emrys but also Lily and James Potter.

He had not thought of those two in centuries, and still…

"Nicholaos Arthur Myrddin," he said softly. "And Helena Morgana Lily."

"So, Nicky and Helily, hu?" Anastasius said grinning and then turned to the babies in their parents arms. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm your cousin Ana."

To Rowena's displeasure her children would be stuck with the nicknames Anastasius had choosen on their birthday.

Two and a half weeks later, Antioch Ignotus James, Peverell's son would join them.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Why are you sitting out here?" a voice asked and the young boy turned around just to see his Head of House sitting down beside him, his eyes following the boy's gaze to the lake.

It was nearly a year after Salazar Slytherin had returned to the castle and had taken over his old classes again – including potions. The other founders were insistend that he should take it up again and brought their old potion's… _amateur…_ to the gates themselves. They might have not have listened when Salazar spoke up against him but after two years of light accidents and nearly fatal accidents they clearly saw where he was coming from and had insited to remedy this problem themselves.

"Professor Slytherin" the boy said in greeting, turning to look at the lake again.

"Myrddin Wylt," the professor answered. "What troubles you, my child?"

Myrddin sighed and looked at the professor beside him. He liked the man. The professor had been kind to him when he had been laughed at by his classmates. Myrddin often was ridiculed because he did not understand as fast as the others. He had to repeat and to ask often to fully understand a topic and he was horrible with his wand.

"It's nothing, sir" he answered finally.

"I don't believe you, Myrddin Wylt" the professor answered.

Myrddin just sighed and looked at the lake.

"I am an oddball" he finally answered his teacher. "I do not remember very fast, I am not good with magic and finally I do not belong anywhere anymore…"

"You are talking about your parents," Professor Slytherin stated.

Myrddin nodded.

"I know you rescued me… and I know you couldn't do anything for my parents. Those men had killed them before we could do anything – but still… what do I do now? I have been here for the winter and have learned magic like the rest of them. But soon is summer and the rest will return to their parents – what will I do?"

"You stay," the professor answered softly. "This is your home, Myrddin Wylt. No one will ever make you leave, I promise."

Myrddin snorted.

"This is an academia," he answered bitter. "This is not a home. When it would be a home I would have parents who would help me – who I could turn to. Instead I am sitting here – alone… I can tell no one about my problems!"

"You can tell me," the professor answered. "You did it before – why not do it again?"

"Because I am _not _your son!" Myrddin answered screaming. "You might have told the Gathering of the Lords that I am to protect me – but it was a simple lie so that they would not force me into another family as the fiancé of their daughter! It was a farce! You know it, the other professors know it and the rest of the school does know it, too! So stop treating me as if I were your true son, professor! I know you feel guilty that you did not rescue my parents before they were killed – but you don't have to! Don't treat me like that just out of pity!"

Myrddin expected the professor to leave. Instead the professor just snorted.

"I am too old to feel guilty for something that was not my fault," Professor Slytherin said. "Don't try to interpret my motives, boy."

Myrddin stared at his professor. The man looked younger then Professor Gryffindor – and Myrddin knew for a fact that Gryffindor blamed himself for things he could not have changed… so why someone younger than him shouldn't do the same?

"I don't believe you," he finally said. "Professor Gryffindor still feels guilty about the death of the young witch in Wales he could not rescue…"

Slytherin just shrugged.

"He is still young. Someday he will understand that blaming himself about something like that will get him nowhere," he answered Myrddin.

Myrddin stared at his professor.

"You are younger than Professor Gryffindor," he finally stated.

Slytherin grinned.

"That's what you think," he answered. "You and the rest of the school… but no. I am the older one."

"Then you are not much older," Myrddin snorted, looking pointedly at the black hair of his professor and his wrinkle-less face.

The professor laughed.

"Oh child," he said and ruffled Myrddins hair. "So young, so innocent!"

Myrddin snorted but he did not pull away.

"I am not a child anymore," he said frowning.

"You are thirteen, Myrddin Wylt. You _are_ a child."

"And how old are _you_… professor?" Myrddin stared coolly at his professor. He had guessed the ages of all his professors. Slytherin he guessed was something between twenty and thirty winters – not very old for a sorcerer.

The professor laughed again.

"Old," he answered. "But I am sure you do not believe me, do you?"

Myrddin snorted.

"Hardly. I know how sorcerers age," he answered.

"Yes. But Godric, Helga, Rowena, Peverell and I are not the typical sorcerers," the professor said. "Think about it: I met Godric when he was twenty – that was nearly a hundred years ago."

Myrddin blinked.

"A _hundred_ years ago?" he asked flabbergasted thinking about the sorcerer who looked to be between forty and fifty winters old. "Professor Gryffindor is bloody one hundred twenty years old?"

"Something like that," Slytherin smiled.

"And you are _older _than him?!"

"Yes."

"How much older?" Myrddin wanted to know staring at his professor beside him.

The other one shrugged.

"I'm not sure," he answered.

"What do you mean – you are not sure?!"

"I never counted the years," Slytherin answered shrugging and staring at the lake. "But it has been a long time ago when my father died – and it will be a long time until I die myself…"

"By Myrddin! You are kidding me, professor – aren't you?! I mean, how_ can't_ you know how old you are?"

The professor laughed again.

"I do not wish to know," He answered. "It is hard to remember and I have seen too much to wish to remember exactly."

Myrddin stayed silence after that. He stared at the lake again.

"Now Myrddin Wylt – what problems do you have?" Slytherin finally said.

"I told you, you are not my father," Myrddin answered bitterly.

"So if I would blood-adopt you I would be allowed to know?" Slytherin asked interested.

"As if you would really want to do so," Myrddin snorted. "I am a terrible sorcerer – why should someone like you want me?!"

"Once I was not different than you," Slytherin answered shrugging. "Once, when I was a child I was terrible at brewing and everything else to do with a wand. To be truthful: the first wand since I lost the one I had as a child I got from the others shortly after we met."

Myrddin stared at him.

"You never used magic before you met the others?"

"Oh, I _did_ use magic" Slytherin answered laughing. "But I was and still am a druid. I never learned to be a proper sorcerer."

"But… but you are teaching us!"

"Yes, Potions, Runes and Occlumency" the other one replied. "These are the basics for druids – not just sorcerers."

"But you are using your wand!"

"Yes. But I had to train before I was able to," Slytherin answered shrugging. "You will be the same. Some day, I am sure, you will be brilliant – and I would be proud to call you son that day."

"Don't joke, professor."

"I don't," Slytherin replied. "I talked to the other professors. They don't have a problem if I want you as a son…"

"Stop!" Myrddin held up one of his hands to stop his professor to keep on. "What do you mean with 'You talked to the other professors'?! I thought that you just asked me because I said… because… because…"

"No," Slytherin answered. "I came here to ask you to be my son. I just noticed that you had another problem and wished to first help you with it before asking…"

"But… but…"

"Myrddin," Slytherin sighed. "I watched over you since you are ten. You might not have known me until last autumn and you might have never seen me before that day we met in the dungeons but I still watched you from afar, like I watched all my Slytherin-children. You lost your parents last autumn – believe me, I had time enough to think if I really want to offer you a new family…"

"So… so you offer me to be my _father_?!"

"Yes," Slytherin answered casually. "I am sorry I can't give you a mother. And don't worry – I would not force you to call me father. You can, of course, but I understand if you don't. Just… think about my offer – will you?"

"I… I…" Myrddin could not believe his ears. He had longed to have a family again and he had often thought that Slytherin was acting like a father. He had _wished_ Slytherin would be his father – he had wished it sometimes even before he had lost his parents.

His father had been outright cool to him since the day Myrddin had started to do magic. Myrddin's mother had told him that his father blamed sorcerers for being thrown out of his family – just because he had no magic himself – and other things that happened to him before Myrddin was born. His father had never looked at Myrddin the same after his son had displayed magic.

_Slytherin instead…_

And now Slytherin was asking him to be his son – him, magically hindered Myrddin Wylt!

"Y… Yes… I will think about it," he finally managed to promise.

Slytherin nodded and stood up again.

"Tell me when you know – or when you want to speak about your problems…" he said and started to walk away.

"Wait, sir!" Myrddin stopped him.

"Yes?"

"What's with your family, sir?!" Myrddin asked. "They might not be happy if you adopt me…"

Slytherin smiled and returned to ruffle Myrddin's hair again.

"Do not worry. My son – your big brother, if you decide so – won't object. He's adopted himself. And my grandparents would never object to aid a child," Slytherin answered softly. "Believe me, there is no one who would even think about objecting. And even if they would. It is only I who is named Slytherin. I am the Lord of the House. I have the right to add whoever I want to the house and no one will be able to object."

"But… but surely you cannot be the last of Slytherin! I mean… your son… your grandparents…" Myrddin answered horrified. His teacher could not be so alone – could he? Myrddin had seen his teacher's son and his grandparents. So how could he say that they wouldn't be able to object even if they wanted to? Even Myrddin had still family – even if they did not want him…

His teacher laughed.

"My son is a 'Sanguini', my grandparents don't have a last name. Add to that that I was not born Slytherin and you will be able to understand how there's no one who can object me," he answered still laughing before he suddenly turned serious. "But yes. Slytherin might not be the family name I grew up with, but now that it exists, I am the last of my line."

"But… but how?!"

"My son is a vampire, my grandparents are a basilisk and a phoenix. My father was a Firbolg-born," Slytherin answered shrugging. "By the law of the Gathering my son and my grandparents don't count because they are no sorcerers but Firbolg… pureblood, that is. I still have some family from my mother's side – but they don't know anymore that I have been family once."

Myrddin blinked.

"How can someone forget you are family?" he asked astonished and horrified.

Slytherin smiled sadly.

"I am old, Myrddin Wylt," he answered sincerely. "Very, very old. The last persons that knew I was family, died a long time ago."

"How old?" Myrddin whispered, staring at his teacher.

Slytherin hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the lake, searching for something far, far away.

"Sir?"

Slytherin sighed.

"Maybe I should tell you. You should know a little bit about the family you will enter before you do enter…" he said.

Again silence filled the air. But when Myrddin finally thought his teacher had forgotten him, Slytherin finally spoke.

"I was born as Salvazsahar Emrys, son of Myrddin Emrys," he said. "I grew up far away from here. I was taught by King Arthur how to fight and by Lancelot how to ride. Mother… Morgana LeFay, that is… finally taught me how to heal. I am still a healer first, not a warrior. When finally Medrawed killed Arthur and Arthur Medrawed… I… you could say I lost the last of my close family-members that time…"

Myrddin stared at his professor.

"You are _The_ Myrddin Emrys son?" he asked flabbergasted. "But… but why do we all call you 'Slytherin'?!"

"Simple," the Professor answered. "I changed my name."

_Not true, but close enough._

"But… but…"

"I hope you know that you cannot tell anyone what I told you right now," Slytherin said. "I gave up my identity a long time ago – I do not wish to return to it."

"But… but… but you are Myrddin Emrys' son! How can you not…"

"Exactly. I am Myrddin Emrys' son, Myrddin Wylt. I do not want to be compared to my father. I am my own man – and I did my own legacy without being helped by the name my father gave me."

"So… so no one knows?!"

"The other professors do know that I am related to Myrddin Emrys. The other… founders… even suspect that I am his son. But no. No one knows my age – and no one knows truly who my father is. And you will not tell."

_A white lie, but the child couldn't and shouldn't know that there was someone who knew the truth exept of him. It was less likely of him being overheard if he had no one to talk to about the truth, after all._

Myrddin shook his head.

"I won't" he answered. "I definitely won't, Professor!"

"Good," Slytherin stood up again.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Just one question."

"Yes?"

"Would I be Emrys or Slytherin when you adopt me?"

"Slytherin," the professor answered. "The Emrys-family is long gone. It shall not return."

_The Gathering had forgotten it again, and Sal would do everything in his power to keep it like that. Slytherin would be a noble family from now on. Emrys would just be one thing: a legend._

This time Myrddin smiled.

"I will think about it, Professor." He said.

"That's all I ever asked."

And with that the professor left.

Myrddin again looked at the lake.

Being Slytherin… having a father again…

When he finally had decided to say yes he had not once thought about the fact that he would be the grandson of Myrddin Emrys when he accepted.

Of course, he was 'just' the blood adopted grandson, meaning that he inherited some of the family traits like Parseltongue without being ever able to use the full account of the Emrys' Family Magic.

A blood-adoption was after all just a potion that changed some of the DNA – but the main part of the Emrys' inheritance was the Firbolg soul, and that was something Myrddin Wylt could never inherit.

This was also the true reason why Sal had told Myrddin he would be adopted in the Slytherin family and not in the Emrys' family. To adopt into Emrys was just possible if the child was a Firbolg-born and if Sal shared his own soul with the child – and that again was just possible with an undeveloped soul. Like a toddler's soul. Like Sal's once had been thanks to the Horcrux.

Not that Myrddin Wylt Slytherin ever knew. Sal had decided against telling his son because he didn't want to explain to him why he could have never been Emrys. So when Myrddin Wylt remembered that he was the grandson of Myrddin Emrys, Sal just smiled and said nothing.

Funnily Myrddin Wylt finally remembered this little detail about his grandfather the day he held his first-born and his wife decided to call him 'Emrys' after Myrddin Emrys and like that also after Myrddin Wylt Slytherin in a way.

After hearing her choice at that day Myrddin collapsed laughing but unable to tell his wife what he thought to be so funny. He could never tell her. But he told his father. He told his father that he never registered that he normally should call himself 'Emrys' and that his son now was originally an 'Emrys Emrys'. His father had just smiled and then asked him to never tell his children.

And he did.

The years passed. His father had long ago left the family and everyone thought him dead. His father had left the family after the last of the other Founders had died, leaving Salazar Slytherin alone in the world – alone except of Myrddin Wylt Slytherin who was a father himself and had not needed him anymore.

The other Founders had died of old age, with the only exception of Rowena. She had been old when she died, but it was an illness that brought her down. Sal was a good healer, but even he couldn't rescue her that time.

He also couldn't rescue Helily.

He had loved the girl like his own daughter and she was the only one he ever shared with that his mother was originally from the future. He never told her that he was the one who travelled in time, he just told her of his mother.

"I named you after my mother," he told her one day when she was little and asked for the origin of her name. "Lily Evans. She's not even born yet, but in my memory she's long since dead."

And he refused to tell her more, except for the fact that it would still be centuries until his mother would be born. When Helily died, it felt as if his heart had been ripped out and even when her ghost returned together with the ghost of her murderer – a student of Sal's own house – it was not enough. And for decades he refused to even look at the man who had dared to kill his baby girl.

At the same time the Founder's grew old and died, Myrddin Wylt's children grew up and 'Slytherin' turned into a respectable name. Myrddin Wylt had finally seen his children's children. He had seen decades. He had seen over a century and every child his wife birthed had been able to speak Parseltongue – inherited from the adoption ceremony, a simple potion with the blood of the new parents in it.

Finally Myrddin Wylt Slytherin died and his legacy mixed over time with the legacy of his grandfather, binding them together until no one knew that there had been two of them. Myrddin Wylt was the sorcerer who invented a lot of new potions and spells – and Myrddin Emrys was the one who taught Arthur.

A thousand years later there was not Myrddin Wylt and there was no Myrddin Emrys. There was just a Merlin – and he did both.

Also a thousand years later Helily's ghost would meet a little, lost Gryffindor first year with flaming red hair and killing curse green eyes. The same eye color that once Helily's brother Nicholaos had had. The same eye color that Sal had had.

And when Helily would asked for the girl's name and hear the words "Lily Evans" she would smile at the young child and tell her: "My name's Lily, too. I was once named after you." Not that the girl would believe her exclamation – at least not for another seven years.

But that is history.

History and a grave for each that was all that was left. And it was a lonely figure with death-green eyes who returned to the graves of Myrddin Wylt and Helena 'Ravenclaw' to lay down lilies.

Sometimes some family members of Slytherin would see this figure in front of the grave, wondering who was at the grave of their ancestor but never connecting the silent weeping Salvazsahar Emrys with the strong and proud Salazar Slytherin – the one ancestor of them that had never had a grave himself…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope I redeemed myself a little bit with this long chapter._

_Anyway, that's the end of the era of the Founders. Sal will move on to other adventures xD_

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	38. Chapter 37: 1260 Tale Of The 3 Brothers

**_Disclaimer:_**_ not mine. All Rowling's._

**_Information: _**_all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_Excerpt from** Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, **__Chapter Twenty-One_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 1260**

**The Tale Of The Three Brothers**

sss

"_**There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, **__**the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across." **_

It had been centuries, since Sal had last been in Britain and maybe he wouldn't have returned, if he hadn't heard rumours about a new threat to the British wizard kind. Even now, more than a thousand years after he had been the prince of Camelot, Sal still felt responsible for the British wizards, who were his subjects by birth right – or adopted right, if you added the fact that he had not only been Arthur Pendragon's future heir but also his son by blood adoption.

And so, Sal had returned as soon as he had heard of the killings of wizards in Britain. Of course, there had been killings before. Just in 1066, William the Conqueror had conquered Muggle Britain and there had been no way for the magical part to not be subjected to the changes as well. But unlike the Muggle part, in the end, everything had stayed mostly the same because unlike in the Muggle world the land-bound oaths to the throne of Arthur Pendragon could not be broken and so there had been no way for another magical king to take over.

It was a common practice in the magical world to bind the oaths to a king not only into the king's blood-line but also into the very foundation of the kingdom – the castle in which the oaths had taken place and the very land itself. That practice led mostly to a complete disinterest in trying to conquer another country. It was simply no fun if the possible new subjects were by birth sworn to another family – something the Romans found out the hard way when they tried to conquer the British wizard kind in 60 AD. It was hard to rule over subjects that could not be bound to your laws and wishes and because of that had no restrictions about killing you in your sleep. In the end the Romans had tried to destroy the natural druidic magic the British druids were practicing. It had helped them for a while but the moment the first of their own kind was born in Britain, they found out that the oaths suddenly bound those children as well. The magic might have changed thanks to the Romans, but the oaths still hadn't – not until the very foundation of Camelot would be destroyed and the very last person of Pendragon blood had died.

And that was more than unlikely to happen.

Still, Sal might not have bothered to return if there just had been a few killings. But whatever was happening in Great Britain, was different. Whatever it was, there was a strange kind of summon in Sal's blood that urged him to return and check on the people that he should have ruled by right and magic.

The road to Britain had been long and dangerous and Sal was quite tired when he finally arrived at the shore of the Isles, nevertheless he continued on to Londinium as fast as possible.

He was still a few days' marches from Londinium, and twilight was descending upon him, when he saw not far ahead on the road, three people. They had set up camp for the night near the river bed of River Thames. A fire was merrily burning in their midst and even from far, Sal could smell the slowly cooking meat in their pot.

Normally, Sal wouldn't stop for the night in the midst of no-where. And if he did, he would leave the road and find a secure place somewhere. But he was weary after his last weeks of travel and the strangers camp ahead on the road seemed like as good a place to stay for the night as any.

Of course, meeting strangers was always dangerous. Nevertheless, Sal had learned over the years that most people were friendly and it was always safer to share a camp for the night, than to camp alone. There were worse things than strangers in the world and feral creatures were more likely to attack a lone traveller than a camp with more people.

So when he nearly reached the group of three, instead of continuing on, he stopped. It was then, that he felt some kind of magical shield surrounding them.

_Wizards._

_They were wizards._

All the better for him, Sal decided.

"Hail, dear fellows," he greeted them, his hands open and non-threatening. "What a lovely night, tonight."

The three men turned and sprung to their feet instantly. Sal could see two of them reaching for some weapons, which were hidden in their clothes. Weapons, or maybe their wands. Sal couldn't tell and they stopped before they could draw whatever they had been reaching for.

Sal made some further steps towards them.

"Stop, stranger!" one of them called out to him, before Salvazsahar could even reach the light of the fire. Sal stopped, his hands still open in front of him. Nevertheless he saw that neither of the two men who had reached for their weapons, had withdrawn their hands from the place their weapons were hidden. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Sal scrutinised the wizard who had decided to speak to him and the other two who were flanking him. All three had unruly black hair and deep brown eyes. They definitely reminded Sal of himself before he had grown out his hair – and they also reminded him of Peverell, his old friend and the husband of Helga Hufflepuff.

"I am a lone traveller, searching for shelter for the night," Sal answered. "I saw your fire and decided to ask if I could resort for tonight."

The speaker blinked surprised and looked Sal over again.

"Take down your hood," he said finally and Sal slowly reached for his hood and pulled it down to show his face. The strangers cool, brown eyes travelled over the features Sal revealed. Sal could see that the stranger especially took in Sal's traditionally braided hair and his old, a little travel-worn and faded dark green robes – but his eyes remained empty of recognition, so Sal guessed that he had no idea what the traditional braiding of Sal's hair for Sal's standing in the magical world meant.

Finally the stranger seemed to decide that he should at least follow the customs of hospitality and said: "I am Antioch Peverell, Lord Peverell. These are my brothers Cadmus and Ignotus. Now tell me your name, mudblood."

_Peverell?_

"Mudblood?" Sal asked instead, knowing that he would have time to mull over the last name of the stranger later on.

Sal had not heard the word 'mudblood' when he interacted with wizards before, but it had been a while since he last had been in Britain and there was a chance that the word had come up while he had been away.

"You are one, aren't you?" Antioch said sneering. "One of these mundane borns that fear magic because of their god. One of those that believe they have been made of mud by their god…"

Sal blinked. Well, that at least was a different explanation why a mundane born was called 'mudblood'…

"I fear you are mistaken" he finally said. "I am no such a thing."

The answer was a snort.

"Well, you must be, or you would have continued on, without seeing us. There are some temporary wards in place to shield us from any mundane that travels the road tonight."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

There seemed to be some new magicks that he had not heard of before. Of course, Sal knew of wards that would keep away mundanes, but until now he had always thought that those wards were permanent and not temporary like those around him.

"I am no mundane-born," he said instead. "I am on my way to the Gathering of the Lords."

The answer was a sneer.

"There is no 'Gathering of the Lords'," the Peverell-Lord said. "It seems your claim of being no mudblood was just falsified by yourself."

Salvazsahar frowned at that.

"What do you mean with 'There is no Gathering'?" he asked. "What else is there to lead our people?"

"The Wizards' Council," the answer came from one of Antioch's brothers. Ignotus, if Sal remembered it right. "We're now led by the Wizards' Council. The name changed to that about a hundred and fifty years ago."

Sal just sighed when he heard that and then muttered to himself: "Now they don't just change the language, they deliberately change the names of things as well. Stupid humans and their short lives!"

When he looked up again, he saw that Ignotus was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. It seemed as if his rant had not been fully unheard and Sal felt his face burn with embarrassment.

"Well, it seems that if there's solely a 'Wizards' Council', then I am on my way to said Wizards' Council," he finally declared and Antioch snorted.

"Why ever should you go there?" he asked scornfully. "Mudbloods aren't allowed to enter the Council."

Sal just frowned at him.

"I told you, I am no mundane born," he said. "I've been a Lord of the Gathering and if the Wizards' Council is still headed by the lords, I will have to take my seat among them."

This time Antioch Peverell laughed at him.

"You seat?" he asked amused. "There are no free seats in the Wizards' Council, so pray tell, mudblood, were do you want to sit? Do you think the Council will give you a seat if you just ask them so that you can spread your believes of being made of mud among our people?"

Salvazsahar saw that Cadmus was chuckling as well, Ignotus instead was looking at him with contemplating eyes.

Sal still raised an eyebrow towards the other two.

"There are no free seats?" he asked interested. "Pray tell – who are heading Emrys and Pendragon at the moment?"

"Emrys?" one of the brothers, Ignotus, asked astonished and Sal could see the wheels turning in his head.

"Pendragon?" the other brother, Cadmus, said, but unlike his brother he was just amused by Sal's question.

"Why do you ask for those two seats?" Antioch said. "Everyone knows that Emrys and Pendragon are extinguished."

Sal just snorted.

"Just because you didn't hear of anyone of my family for some time, you declare my house extinguished?" he asked while shaking his head. "I was abroad, not dead. Why the hell should I stay in Britain just to go to gatherings – pardon, _councils_ now – where nothing is done at all..?"

"Abroad?" Antioch asked sneering. "So you want to tell us that your whole house has been abroad for… how many years?"

Sal shrugged. "For about two hundred years," he answered unconcerned. "The house Emrys has better things to do than to stay in Britain and go to Gatherings._ I_ have better things to do."

"Emrys," Antioch said faintly. Sal inclined his head.

"Emrys," he confirmed.

"And your name is?" Ignotus asked, when Antioch stayed silent.

"Salvazsahar Emrys," Sal answered. "Lord of Emrys."

Ignotus stared at him in surprise when he heard that name. Then he gestured towards their fire. "Then I welcome you on our fire for the night, Salvazsahar Emrys, Lord of Emrys," he said. "Sit down and eat with us."

Antioch and Cadmus just nodded when their bother nudged them.

"Sit and be welcome," Antioch Peverell finally managed to say, then his eyes darkened. "But that doesn't mean I believe your claim. I don't believe that you are Emrys!"

Ignotus just snorted and turned to their cooking pot to look after their dinner. After he had stirred it a bit he returned his attention to Salvazsahar.

"Your first name," he finally said. "Are you named after Salvazsahar Pendragon?"

Sal started when he heard that name.

"How do you know that name?" he asked the youngest brother.

Ignotus shrugged. "There's a witness report about the Battle of the Great North Fields in the library of Haughwards," he explained. "I read it when I was an apprentice."

Salvazsahar started a bit, when he heard the changed name of his academia, but he said nothing.

_Haughwards._

_It seemed as if the change of the name to 'Hogwarts' had already begun._

It was kind of a frightening discovery, because it showed Sal how long he had been away from Britain and how long it had been since he came to the past.

"And even now, after searching the earth for millennia, there is still no way to get me back home to the future," Sal thought. Not, that he was sure that he wanted to return, anymore. It had been a thousand years since he had last played a child and he had long before that matured to an adult – if not in body, but at least in mind.

"Well?" Ignotus interrupted at that moment Sal's thoughts. "Are you named after Prince Salvazsahar?"

Sal sighed.

"Something like that," he finally answered, then he shook his head. "I never knew that the witness report of the Battle of the Great North Fields is still at Haugh's Wards."

"So you know the story?" Ignotus asked interested. "I loved the story. When I was young I always wanted to be a great warrior like Salvazsahar Pendragon! I…"

"Oh, stop it, Ignotus!" Antioch interrupted his younger brother. "I know you worship the ground the Prince walked on but could you stop talking about him at least for today?"

Sal felt oddly thankful towards Antioch. He didn't know if he would have really been able to listen to Ignotus' admiration if the man had continued. It simply was too embarrassing for him to even think about being worshipped by anyone.

Ignotus meanwhile pouted for a moment, before changing the topic.

"If you are heading to Londinium for the Council, you can travel with us," Ignotus said and then pulled out some bowls for his brothers and himself and served dinner. "Do you want some as well?"

Sal nodded and pulled out his own bowl from his knapsack to be filled. "Yes, thank you."

After he had gotten the bowl back, he returned to the first thing, Ignotus had said. "I would like to travel with you," he said. "I have been away from Britain far too long and it will be easier to get up to date if there is someone I can ask about the changes."

Ignotus just nodded.

"We will cross the river in the morrow," Antioch said. "After that it should take us another three to four days to reach the Council."

The rest of the evening, they talked about their travels and other insignificant things.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"_**However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure."**_

They were up at dawn, and Sal watched the brothers transfiguring some twigs into a narrow bridge, so that they could cross the river.

"It's not very permanent, but it should do until we reach the other side," Cadmus said, and led the way over the swaying bridge. Sal was the last to cross and like Cadmus predicted the transfiguration ended just after Sal had set foot on the other side.

Sal had been concentrating on the bridge, so when he looked up, he was surprised to see another man standing in front of the three brothers. He stopped in his track and unshed his wand.

For a moment he tried to make up his mind if he should step up next to the brothers to face the stranger, but then he decided to wait and see what would happen.

The person in front of the three brothers was hooded like Salvazsahar, but whereas Sal's cloak was a dark green, the cloak of the stranger was black.

And whoever it was, Cadmus Peverell knew them – and that was reason enough for Sal to stay out of the incoming conflict for now.

Cadmus was stiff and his hand was grabbing his wand hard enough that his knuckles had turned white. His eyes were fixed on the face beneath the cloak – a face that could be adumbrated by Salvazsahar and the brothers, but not clearly seen.

Nevertheless, the middle brother seemed to know exactly who he was facing.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with hatred colouring his voice.

"Does your question imply, that you don't want to see me, my friend?" the stranger asked, chuckling. "And I thought you liked our last encounter. Didn't you, like I, feel the thrill of a duel of life and death?"

The answer was a hiss and it was thanks to Ignotus honed reflexes that Cadmus did not throw himself at the person in front of him.

"You monster!" he cried. "You killed my betrothed!"

"Of course," the stranger said. "I had to gain your attention somehow, after all. And I still think, I choose my opponent well, after all, you managed to kill me – and that is quite a feat!"

"And yet, here are you! If I truly had managed to kill you, you wouldn't stand in front of me anymore!" Cadmus hissed.

The answer was a terrible, evil laugh that gave Sal goose bumps.

But it was the whiff of the stranger's magic that gave him the creeps. There was something unnatural contaminating the other ones magic. Maybe Sal wouldn't have felt it, but whoever the stranger was, his magic was oddly known to Sal – and because of that Sal was able to pick up the strangeness in it without even trying to do so.

"I cannot die, my dear _Cadmus_. So, of course, I'm still alive! I'm far too great to die like _normal _people!" when the stranger spoke, his distaste for 'normal people' was easily picked up in his voice. "Of course, you, _Cadmus_, are a rare version of the _normal_ people. You, like your brothers, are normal, but unusual in your own right!"

_The voice._

A shiver ran down Sal's back.

_That voice._

_Foreign but familiar._

Cadmus snarled at the stranger. "Whatever you think that you know about me and my brothers, you are wrong!"

The answer was again terrible laughter.

"Oh, I know a lot about your and your brothers' work. Your work about time and time travel was something way ahead of your times! And your experiments with powerful objects and the possibility of immortality! One of a kind!" The stranger exclaimed and grinned beneath his hood. "I had to challenge you! The brightest minds of your age, the most powerful wizards alive today! I couldn't pass this up and not challenge you to see who of us is better!"

_The speech pattern – it was something Sal had heard before, but for the life of him he couldn't tell where he had heard it!_

Cadmus snarled again.

"So you killed my betrothed," he hissed.

"So I killed your betrothed," the stranger repeated. His voice was oddly calm and devoid of emotions.

_The repeat of the sentence felt oddly normal to Sal, as if it had to be like that; as if the person in front of him would always do it and as if Sal_ knew _that habit unconsciously._

Cadmus roared in fury. Ignotus tried to stop his brother, but the man escaped his brother's grasp, pulled out his sword and swung it towards the stranger's head.

"Cadmus!" Antioch exclaimed. "Stop it!"

But the younger brother refused to listen. The stranger just laughed and dodged the sword.

"Oh, Cadmus, Cadmus, Cadmus," the hooded person said. "Listen to your brother, Cadmus! He knows best, Cadmus! He understands your agony better than you, Cadmus! He loved your betrothed more than you, Cadmus!"

The stranger cackled madly.

"Do as your brother says, Cadmus! He knows best, Cadmus! He's more intelligent than you, Cadmus! He's more powerful than you, Cadmus!"

"_Have you been naughty, little big brother?"_

Cadmus just swung his sword at the other, time after time. But the stranger was fast and dodging Cadmus seemed to be just a play for him.

"Cadmus, stop!" Antioch repeated and when Cadmus started, Ignotus took the advantage and got again a hold of Cadmus.

The stranger cackled.

"Don't stop him, Antioch! He has done nothing wrong, Antioch! You're a bad brother, Antioch! You refuse to give your brother revenge, Antioch!"

"_Did mommy punish you, little big brother?"_

"Shut up!" Antioch roared and drew his wand. "_Shut up_!"

The answer was another evil laughter and the first sparks of magic escaped Antioch's wand when the fury also took a hold of him.

"Stop it, Antioch! He wants to goad you into fighting him!" Ignotus hissed while he still held his other brother back.

The answer was manic laughter.

"Do you hear it, Antioch? Your brother is ordering you, Antioch! He's taking away your authority, Antioch! You should admonish him, Antioch!" The stranger said in a high, childish voice.

"_Did you have to stand in the corner like an unruly child, little big brother?"_

"SHUT UP!" Antioch roared, "SHUT UP!" And again red and yellow sparks came out of his wand and burned away some of the grass to his feet. Then Antioch raised his wand, clearly intending to curse the stranger.

The stranger cackled again.

"Come at me, Antioch! Maybe you'll get me to be silent, Antioch! Maybe you win against me, Antioch! And maybe you will get revenge for your brothers beloved, Antioch!" The stranger said in his childlike voice. "Maybe Cadmus will thank you, Antioch! Maybe he'll kill you, Antioch! For taking his revenge from him, Antioch!"

"_Do you know that mommy loves me more than you, little big brother? Do you feel sad because of that, little big brother? Do you cry at night, little big brother? For being only the second in her heart, little big brother?"_

_And in Sal's mind a little boy was standing in front of him, a sword in his hand, taunting him._

_Taunting him like the stranger was taunting the brothers._

That was the moment, a horrible realization flooded Sal's mind.

But he couldn't think of that now. Not with the danger the other three were in right now. Not, when the others reacted to the goading like that. It was an idiotic reaction. After all, it wasn't as if the stranger was saying something true. They shouldn't react like that to the words of the stranger.

But they were still children and where Salvazsahar had never reacted, they tried to counter the taunts with violence.

The stranger cackled gleefully at the end of his taunts – taunts that had riled up two of the three brothers.

Again, Cadmus tried to get away from Ignotus' grip. Antioch instead, lost it and charged at the stranger.

This was the moment, Sal decided to step in.

Without a single word, he pulled out his wand and stunned Antioch before the man could reach the stranger in their path.

The stranger started and then turned to Salvazsahar.

"Curious," he said. "I didn't know that there would be another one in your company." Then he cocked his head and eyeballed Sal.

"I don't recognize you," the stranger said, surprise obvious in his voice. "Take down your hood. I want to see your face, stranger."

Sal snorted when he heard that.

The stranger had stopped his goading, but the voice of the stranger created still a horrible echo in Sal's memory. An echo he had loved and hated all at once.

"Follow your own advice, _stranger_," he replied coolly, while keeping his eyes, voice and face expressionless. He couldn't think about his guess now. It would break him if his mind deduced his guess as likely. "I can't see your face as well."

The answer was a grin. Even with the hood hiding the strangers face, the grin was heart achingly familiar.

"You don't need to see my face, to know who I am," the man said grinning. "I am Death, who else should I be?"

"Death?" Sal said sceptical. "You don't quite look like Death to me."

The answer was a laugh.

"But I am Death!" the stranger said. "I am Death's Master! I alone have gained power over Death itself! Look at me and believe it!"

And with that the man caressed the cloak he was wearing. Then he snickered and vanished from sight.

"Look at me!" he howled. "I am Death! I. Am. Death! I have its wand! I have its cloak! I have its power over the dead! I. _Am._ Death!" And with that the stranger was again visible.

Sal felt his heart beating faster after that exclamation.

_Death?_

_It couldn't be, but at the same time, the only other explanation would hurt even more if it was true._

"I don't think that being able to get invisible is an evidence that you are truly Death," he finally said and even if his heart was beating a mile a minute, his voice sounded calm and emotionless. "I have seen people getting invisible without them being Death." That had been in the future, of course, where there were invisibility cloaks and spells that hadn't been invented in the time he was now, but it was nevertheless true.

"But I am," the stranger replied. "You will find out when I finally kill you – just like I will kill them!" And he gestured towards Sal's travelling comrades.

"The man's insane," Sal heard Ignotus whisper, and Sal definitely couldn't object to that statement. The man seemed to be insane – but if Ignotus was right, Sal didn't know if he could stomach it. He wished with all his heart that Ignotus was wrong, but at the same time Sal felt an odd shiver running down his neck; a shiver telling him that there was more to it than simply insanity. Even if the man was insane, there was something… not entirely right with him and Sal wasn't talking about his mental health.

It was the magic surrounding the man. It somehow felt… tainted… unhealthy. Sal couldn't remember to have ever met something so hideous like the magic that surrounded the man in front of him.

It was unnatural.

Perverted beyond recognition.

Sal shuddered and the man in front of him laughed.

_Please, no! Everything, but that! Everything!_

"Afraid?" the stranger asked.

"No," Sal replied and flicked his wand to get Antioch away from the man. The stunned lord landed next to Sal in the grass and with another flick of his wand, Sal revived him but held him still in a full body-bind.

_Let me be wrong!_

_I beg you, please! Let me be wrong!_

Antioch blinked for a second or two; then he frowned at Sal.

"What did you do?" he hissed.

"I stopped you," Sal answered, warily; his eyes not leaving the stranger in front of him. "Whatever he is – you wouldn't have had a chance against him."

Antioch snarled.

"I am Lord Antioch Peverell! Until now I won almost every duel, I ever entered! There is_ no_ _way_ that…"

"This would have been a duel you lost," Sal said.

_Please, let me be wrong! Let me be wrong!_

A child's laughter filled his head, originating in one of his memories.

The stranger cackled.

"Oh, you seem to be a very sly one, aren't you?" the stranger said, still grinning widely.

It was an unnatural grin that spread across the stranger's whole face, but did not even touch his hidden eyes.

_I can't bear it if I'm right! I can't!_

A child's innocent long gone returned through his memories.

A child's eyes, filled with love, looked at him from a moment long ago lost in time.

"I think, you will make a great addition to my growing soul collection," the stranger said, his grin spreading impossible wide. For a moment the stranger played with a ring on one of his fingers. The ring was made of gold and adorned with a black stone. On top of the stone was an odd symbol to see. It looked like a stylized golden eye with a slit pupil. A trianglewith a circle in it that was parted in half by a line.

"_Look at me, little big brother! I'll make you cry, little big brother! I'll hurt you, little big brother! And there's nothing that you can do, little big brother! Because I'm better than you, little big brother!"_

"_**And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him. "**_

And with a final grin, the stranger charged.

Sal flicked his wrist and released Antioch from his body bind, before evading the stranger just by inches.

Antioch instead shot spells at the stranger, instantly.

They all missed.

The stranger was too fast, too agile and too cunning to be hit.

He cackled madly and then just charged at Sal again.

Sal dodged and Cadmus used Sal's move to swing his sword at the stranger, while Ignotus drew his wand and send a spell at him as well.

Both missed and the stranger cackled.

Like an acrobat he flipped on his hands and then swung himself through the air. He landed behind Antioch and his fingers – claws – set out to scratch the man. Antioch dodged, but the long and unusually sharp nails sliced his robes at his shoulders and drew blood.

The stranger licked the blood from his fingers and cackled again.

"Oh, such sweetness! Such strength! Such _power_!" he said gleefully. "I will love to slice you up and kill you!" And he charged at Antioch again – this time too fast for the other man to react in time.

"_I love you, little big brother! I want to be like you, little big brother! You're my hero, little big brother!"_

And a child stood with adoration in its eyes in front of him.

The image shattered and a single tear fell from Salvazsahar's burning eyes.

In the air around him he could smell death and betrayal.

"What have you done?" the words were nothing but a defeated, agonized whisper. "What have you done to yourself?"

And another tear joint the first.

The stranger looked up at that. He had taken down Antioch and had been just seconds away from charging Cadmus, when Salvazsahar spoke to him in this broken voice.

"Done?" The stranger asked, still grinning. "I did nothing. They're all still alive, aren't they?"

But Sal just shook his head.

"What have you done to yourself?" he repeated horrified. "The forbidden ritual! What have you done, Medrawed?"

The stranger's eyes widened. He paled.

"Little big brother?"

And when Sal's tears started to fall freely, the stranger – Medrawed – fled. And Sal fell to the ground, burying his head in his hands and wept for the man that was no more and for the monster that took his place.

"Why did you rip your soul apart, Medrawed? Why!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"_**So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of the wizard who had conquered death! So Death crossed to an Elder Tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother."**_

Sal entered the great hall of the Gathering of the Lords – now the hall of the Wizards' Council. It had changed since the last time he had been there. The hard, wooden chairs had changed to comfortable ones. The hall itself had been turned in a real hall – more than the cave-like hall it had been before.

Sal looked around interested. The throne still stood at the opposite side of the hall. He knew that there would be a Council today because Antioch had told him, and he decided to join in. Of course it had been a while since he last had entered the Gathering, now Council. The last time he had been in this room, it had been with Godric and Peverell some hundreds of years ago.

When he entered, the most of the Lords were still missing. The Council would start at midday. It still would take some time until the Council would gather. Still, Sal had decided to be early as he was a 'new' face of the Wizards' Council.

So he entered the room and heeded for one of the chairs – his chair. It was the same he had occupied the last time he had been at the Gathering.

"We still have to settle if you truly belong here," Antioch said in that moment, stopping Sal before he could reach his chair.

Sal sighed.

"It sounds as if you don't believe me," he said.

"I don't," Antioch answered sneering. "And I definitely don't trust you – especially after meeting this creature that_ recognized_ you!"

Sal just pressed his lips together.

Ever since Medrawed had fled from the battle after recognizing Sal, the others had been wary of him.

"I'm not like him," Sal repeated for the x-ed time. "I'm nothing like him."

"But you know him!" Cadmus said sneering. "That's definitely enough to be wary of you!"

Sal just snorted.

"Of course I know him," he finally said. Until now he had held back with the truth, but maybe the truth would clear the air between them. "Or at least, I _knew_ him when he was still human."

Antioch just sneered at that.

"I don't believe this creature was ever human!" he judged coolly. "He maims, tortures and kills and loves it – that's not human! That's evidence, that he's a monster!"

And Sal could not object to that.

So he finally just turned around and started to look at the changed hall again.

"I know that he's not human anymore," he told the three brothers. "But that doesn't change that he was once a boy like every other boy I met."

The answer was a snort.

"This… creature… plagues our world for at least one hundred years now! You can't tell me you're old enough to remember the childhood of this monster!" Antioch said harshly.

"Antioch," admonished Ignotus softly when he saw Sal stiffen. "Let it go. It hurts him enough as it is."

Sal just smiled at the third brother.

"It's alright," he whispered. "I'm coming to terms with the truth."

"You're coming to terms with what truth?" Cadmus asked coolly in return and Sal shrugged helplessly.

"I'm coming to terms with Medrawed… with… with my baby brother being a monster," Sal answered bitterly. This shut the other two brothers up, while Ignotus sucked in a harsh breath.

"Your baby brother?" Antioch finally repeated. "How? You… you barely look old enough to be in your twenties!"

"I am much older than twenty" Sal said.

"You're lying!" Antioch growled. "There's no way you could be older than twenty! I know how long wizards live and if you aren't one of the few exceptions then…"

"I told you, I am Salvazsahar Emrys," Sal said sighing. "Don't you think that my last name alone should tell you that I could be nothing else _but _an exception?"

"Well, that might be true if you truly are an Emrys. But like I said before – I don't believe you!" Antioch returned coolly.

Sal sighed tiredly but then went to the stone that invited the new Lords to the Chamber.

There he bowed down and touched it.

"I am Salvazsahar Emrys. I am Lord to my line. I call forth the Lordship I carry. I am Lord Emrys as I was born to my father who was the last Lord of Emrys. So be it, so mot it be," he declared.

Sal could see the three brothers stare at him when a soft golden light surrounded him and gave him the right to enter the Wizards' Council as one of its lords.

"What… how…?!" Cadmus and Antioch exclaimed astonished.

"I told you, I am Salvazsahar Emrys and I told you I am a Lord" Sal said shrugging.

"But… but how? I mean, if that's true – how does nobody know that the line of Emrys is still alive? I mean, shouldn't have your father come here to gain his lordship, and your grandfather and…" Cadmus stuttered.

Sal just sighed.

"Like I told you before: I am old," he said. "The… creature… we met, was once my little brother. I helped to raise him! I trained him! And now you tell me that he has wreaked havoc on the British wizard kind for at least a hundred years!"

And Sal guessed bitterly, that it had been way longer. He remembered the rumours about an immortal Firbolg at the time he still taught at Haugh's Wards after all. And if Medrawed had done what Sal thought he did – and he had done it, even if Sal wished he could deny it – then there was only Medrawed who could be the source of those rumours.

"But… you should be dead if you're as old as you claim! Or, at least, you should be a very old man!" Antioch said surprised.

Sal inclined his head.

"And I would be if I was human," he answered sincerely. "But I am not. My father was a Firbolg-born – a pureblood or whatever you call creature-borns now. He was killed when he was something around seven hundred sixty years old. If he had lived, there would have been a good chance that he would have met the Founders of Haugh's Wards – and he died about seven hundred years before their time. I still have some time to live."

Of course, that was just a half-truth, but Sal didn't plan to tell the brothers more than he had to, to convince them that he had not lied to them.

"You're – you're joking!" Ignotus accused Sal, his eyes big as saucers. Sal snorted.

"I'm not," he answered.

"But… but you are an Emrys… your father can't be a pureblood – I mean, you must be a descendant of Myrddin Emrys and like that you cannot…" Antioch said.

Sal just smirked.

"I am not a descendant of Myrddin Emrys," he answered truthfully.

"Then… then you are claiming a false line?"

Sal snorted.

"No" he said and then decided to add some more truths to his words. "I am the son of a Firbolg-born and I am an Emrys. I am just not Myrddin Emrys' descendant."

"Then how…?"

"Easy" Sal answered and shrugged. "I am his son."

The others stared at him with open mouths.

"But… but… Myrddin Emrys was said to live way before the Founders…!"

Sal rolled his eyes.

"He lived until sixty AD" he finally said and decided to go easy on the astonished brothers. "I grew up on Arthur's court in Camelot." _Again _– but some words shouldn't be added if you wanted to keep your opponents somewhat sane.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"_**Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him the stone would have the power to bring back the dead."**_

"Lord Peverell! Is there a reason why you brought your brothers to the Wizards' Council?" a voice said coolly. Sal had sat down, together with Antioch. His brothers were still standing behind him, waiting for the beginning of the Council. One after another, the other lords had entered, but it was the first time, one of them was spoken to since they arrived.

Antioch just sighed.

"I had to," he said. "They have important information for the Wizards' Council."

"Information?"

"Maybe they should speak for themselves," another Lord, who arrived way before the first speaker, suggested. "After all it is their information to share and there has to be a reason why they came themselves and did not just hand over the information to their brother…"

Other Lords nodded and Slytherin said. "Well, go on, then."

One moment there was absolute silence in the Hall of the Council; then Ignotus and Cadmus exchanged a glance before Cadmus started.

"I am sure you all know the rumours all over Europe about an immortal dark wizard, trying to gain influence in different countries. He comes, he kills, tortures and maims and when someone finally is able to stop and kill him, he returns to the living just a few days later and hunts his killers down before he vanishes and turns up somewhere else just a few month later."

Sal was intrigued. So they had come to the Council to speak about Medrawed long before they met him on the way to Londinium.

"These rumours are nothing more but a legend," the Lord who asked about Antioch's brothers said huffing. "There is no evidence that they are real-"

"We know," Ignotus interrupted. "And my brothers and I thought the same until a month ago."

"Excuse me?"

Ignotus sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Our brother sent us out to destroy the dark wizard that was threatening our lands, like the Council wished it," he said. "We succeeded a month ago in killing him and we thought it was the end – but two weeks ago Cadmus' betrothed was killed-"

"What does _that _have to do with-?"

"…she was killed by a man we thought dead. She was killed by the same dark wizard we killed just four weeks ago! Cadmus was able to kill him again – but on our way to Londinium, we met him again! This time, he fled, but that does not change the truth! We fought this wizard three times already and he still comes after us! He should be dead by every law of nature but here he is, fighting against us! If he is really immortal he won't stop until we find a way to kill him! We had to tell you that there is someone who cannot be killed normally!"

"There is no way that someone is unable to die! Or that someone can live as long as the rumours exist!" the first Lord that spoke to them, denied.

"But…"

"No! If you find prove that it could be, we will talk about it again – until then don't waste my time!" other Lords nodded their content.

"But we have-"

"We have nothing but your word, and that isn't enough for something like that!"

"So you don't believe our word?" Ignotus hissed.

"In this case, forgive me, but no. Maybe you were given a drug and saw what you were meant to see. We need true evidence to believe you. And immortality is impossible to obtain."

The most of the lords nodded.

Sal stared at the other men. They were wizards, used to a world full of inexplicable things – and they still rejected the idea of an immortal wizard?!

"What the Brothers Peverell said, is _not _unbelievable" Sal finally decided to speak up. All the other lords turned to him, gawked at him. Sal wasn't sure if they had even seen him when he entered.

"And who are _you_?!" the main speaker asked sneering. Sal suppressed a grin and decided to rile the man up – with the truth, of course – just to get him back at least for a bit for his slight against Ignotus' honour.

"I am a member of this Gathering" Sal answered coolly, his face expressionless. "And I see no reason to introduce myself to someone that dares to ask for a name without telling his name first."

Sal knew the customs of the Gathering and he was quite sure that the Wizards' Council had not changed the rules. He had learned them a long time ago and he would not forgo them for some stranger that dared to act like he was an intruder.

The other sneered.

"I am Lord Severus Slytherin, Head of the House Slytherin," he answered arrogantly and Sal thought amused that the man should be grateful that Sal had loved his son – because if he hadn't Myrddin would have never been a Slytherin and the Lord of Slytherin would have never started to exist. Then another thought came to him: now, that he was here, did the lord even have the authority to be here? After all, Salvazsahar had been the first 'Lord Slytherin' – and he had never officially given up his title to his son…

"And now, who are _you_?" the Lord of Slytherin interrupted Sal's amused thoughts.

"Your ancestor," Sal answered, still thinking about Myrddin. His words snapped him out of his thoughts.

_Maybe that was something he shouldn't have said…_

Lord Slytherin blinked, gawking. Then he sneered.

"I am quite sure that my ancestor is dead," he said coolly.

Sal just smiled, not correcting the man. He had said more than he wanted to, to begin with, after all.

"I am Salvazsahar Emrys," he told them instead. "I am the Lord of Emrys."

The answers were whispers and distrustful looks in his direction.

"You… you…" Lord Slytherin turned red with fury. "How dare you to…?!"

"He spoke the ritual words and was accepted," Antioch Peverell interrupted quietly. "Just ask the obelisk which lords are at the Council today."

Slytherin was still red with fury, but he turned to the obelisk and, touching it, asked for the lords who had entered the Wizards' Council today.

One after another golden fire wrote the names of the lords in the air above the obelisk. As soon as one had been written fully, if vanished and made space for the next name.

Sal looked at the names with interest.

_McGonagall_ – no surprise there, the family had existed when he was last in a Gathering.

_Bones _– that was a new name. It seemed another known name from his time had finally started to exist.

_Ollivander_ – again a name he had expected. Ollivander's name was at least as old as Emrys after all.

_Slytherin _– this one was written in blue fire to indicate a proxy.

_So Sal was still the Head of House – even if the ruling powers were in the hands of another now..._

There were others Sal knew and others he didn't. Some of the new names he had heard in the future, some not.

And then a name Sal new all too well emerged the obelisk in glowing, golden letters.

_Grim._ Peverell's last name.

"Grim?" Slytherin asked, looking a little bit lost. To Sal's amusement Antioch turned red with embarrassment.

"Er… that's mine," he said with red cheeks. "We just don't call ourselves 'Grim' anymore. Not our fault it was just that we were known for a long time as 'Peverell's sons' until… well, until no-one but the family knew our real last name anymore. At that time we finally started to go by the last name of 'Peverell' – we had to, just to be recognised…"

"So you are Peverell Grim's descendants" Sal concluded smiling. No wonder they had reminded him of Peverell…

"Er… I guess" Antioch Peverell said. "Also even if we are – I do not know anything about this man."

Before Sal could answer, the next name emerged from the obelisk.

_Emrys._

Slytherin hissed and then turned with huge eyes to Sal.

The others also stared at him.

"I told you I am Salvazsahar Emrys" Sal said and turned away from the last few fading letters of some names that emerged after his own. "Now… back to what we were talking about before you questioned my lineage: I know you said that there is no way for a wizard to be immortal – but I know that this is false. There_ are_ ways to be immortal – not that they are good, but they _do_ exist."

"Stop!" Lord Slytherin held up one of his hands. "You come here, being the true heir of Emrys and after your claim is verified you simply want to return to the previous discussion?"

Sal just raised an eyebrow at the other man.

"What else should I do?" he asked him. "After all, it is no news to me that the line of Emrys is still alive."

"But… but there wasn't anyone to claim that line since at least the times of Camelot!" Slytherin returned heatedly. "I, for once, would like to know how there can still be a Lord of Emrys!"

This time Sal snorted.

"Just because the House of Emrys wasn't interested in mindless chatter every other month, it does not mean that there wasn't a Lord of Emrys all along," he finally answered the stumped Lord. "Now back to the topic of immortal wizards. Like I said, there is a possibility of immortality. It might be dark and obscure but it is still existing…"

"But," Lord Slytherin started to say, but he was interrupted by another lord. This lord at least decided to speak of the topic at hand and not of Sal's lineage.

"There is no known way to live forever, lad," Lord McGonagall, like the crest on his chest proclaimed him proudly, said huffing. "I know, you are still young – but Haughwards should have taught you at least that much."

Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"The last time I was at Haugh's Wards, I was teaching there," he said. "I cannot remember a time in the past where I was a student at that school."

This time Lord Slytherin sneered. It seemed he had recovered.

"So where were you taught, Lord Emrys? I cannot believe that a lord like your father rejected the idea of his son being trained at Haughwards, lad!"

Sal just smiled and returned to the original discussion.

"There is at least one way to become immortal," he said. "…Two, maybe even three if you can reproduce the second and third way I know of… even if those ways are no true immortality, just something alike to it for some time…"

Lord McGonagall snorted.

"You sound inexplicably sure, Lord Emrys," he said. "But tell me – have you ever seen someone who has reached immortality?"

Sal hesitated.

Of course he had seen Medrawed just days ago, but seeing him alive did not tell anyone if the other man had really found a way to live forever. There was also the fact that Sal had seen Medrawed dead as well – killed by the goblin blade that had been smitten for Salvazsahar.

But it wasn't Medrawed he thought of the second he heard the question.

It was another man, an evil lord, who came to his mind nearly immediately. It had been Sal's first brush with immortality and the Sickness that was known as the Dark, or like Sal preferred, the Evil Arts of Magic.

Even after over a thousand years he still shuddered when he thought about the night Voldemort had regained his body. It wasn't that he was suddenly afraid of Voldemort – no, he just felt sick, thinking about it… especially after he had been taught blood-magic by his father and godfather and had started to truly understand what kind of evil Voldemort had invoked that night. And it hadn't just been the ritual. No, the evil had started way before, even way before the day Sal had been entered in the Tournament and it had reached its peak when Cedric had been killed and Sal had been used for the ritual.

Someday Sal would destroy the man for what he had done. Some evil could not be forgiven. And line-theft was one of the evilest magic known to mankind.

"Yes," he finally said. "I have seen it. It might have been a twisted kind of immortality, but it was immortality nonetheless."

Lord McGonagall sneered. But the sneer wasn't directed at Sal but at the possibility that Sal's words implied.

"And how was it received?"

Sal shuddered.

"By splitting one's soul," he answered sincerely. "You will lose a part of yourself if you try it and you will slowly lose your sanity after you have done it – but you will be immortal. Unable to die until what you have done to yourself is undone. It is nothing you want to archive, believe me."

_And in his mind he saw that twisted smile that once was the kind smile of his little brother Medrawed._

_A child's smile, lost forever to the perverted magic that allowed Medrawed to return from death._

"Splitting ones soul?!" this time there was more than one lord who asked with disgust in their voice, unbelieving.

"Yes," Salvazsahar said. "I don't know when this path was invented – but if the wizard, you are talking about, truly used this way… kill him. It's definitely mercy."

"You seem to have forgotten that killing him would be the problem," Lord Slytherin sneered. Sal just sighed and shook his head.

"I didn't forget what I told you," he said softly. "I just told you what you had to do if this wizard truly did what I fear he did."

And Sal knew for a fact that Medrawed split his soul. Sal couldn't explain the taint he felt in Medrawed's magic in any other way. Sal could not explain the cry of help he had received through his magic as the Prince of the land in any other way. Nothing but the evilest kind of evil would have him summoned with so much force that he had abandoned everything he had been doing, just to hurry back to Britain.

_But it was not all Medrawed did._

_There was still something foreign to his magic that did not fit to the taint of a split soul._

"You must find the container of his soul-part and destroy it. Then you will be able to kill him," Sal explained aloud.

One of the other lords snorted.

"It's not as easy as you try to make us believe, lad," he said. "Until now I have never heard about a way to split one's soul, but if there is one and this creature found it, then I don't believe that it will be easy to undo it again."

And the lord was right.

Sal remembered his lessons in the Dark Arts from his mother. He had hated them with passion, but it was part of the inheritance of a LeFay. The LeFay-family had always had a great knowledge of the evilest of magic. Even Godric, who had been a light sorcerer to the boot, knew about them. Sal had never spoken with him about them but the fact alone that Godric read some of his family-texts and knew about the darker side of blood-magic – the part that could be used to destroy and kill – was evidence enough.

And Medrawed had been taught by Morgana LeFay herself. As much as Sal had loved the woman and her ability to heal, he had never been blind enough to the fact that his mother had known the darkest magicks and had taught them to her offsprings.

Still, the difference between her and Medrawed was nevertheless mind-blowing. While Medrawed obviously had done away with his mother's warning and had started to use those magicks instead of working against them, Morgana had used her knowledge to gain a deeper understanding of the nature of magic and had mostly counteracted the Evil Arts.

Sal had chosen the same way and even now, days later, he could not believe that Medrawed had turned to the darkest of magicks at one point of his life. He was still unable to believe that he had lost his brother to the ritual their mother had forbidden them to ever think about using.

And Sal still wanted to cry because of the loss of his brother.

"It won't be easy," Sal answered the lord, with a bitter tone of voice. "But it's the only way to stop him. And he has to be stopped, he cannot continue with what he is doing at the moment! He will never stop the killings if you refuse to destroy him! You can't reason with him anymore. Whoever he was once, the person he was is long since gone."

"So you prefer murdering him just to stop him," one of the lords asked coolly.

"There is no other way," Sal answered while he refused to even think about the result of his proportion. His little brother would be killed by them – and Sal would not even try to stop them.

Salvazsahar knew that he would create his own nightmares for the next thousand years with his decision.

He loved his brother, but the ritual Medrawed did, had killed Sal's sibling long ago. The only thing that was still left was a mockery of his loved one - an empty shell, a puppet for the evil in the world.

"There is no other way," Sal repeated. "Even if he would be one of us, even if he would be my own child – I would nevertheless say the same."

"And yet, you're just guessing that the man you met was truly immortal," one of the lords said coolly.

"He might be guessing the method," Antioch interrupted the lord. "But it's nevertheless true that this _creature_ is immortal. And I truly don't care how it archived it – be it by splitting its soul, uniting the legendary Death's Gifts or any other method. As long as we decide on how to stop this monster and find a way to do so, I am happy with everything you come up!"

Sal frowned when he heard that exclamation and while Lord Slytherin and Antioch started to argue about the possibility of immortality, Sal quietly repeated the foreign phrase that Antioch had used.

"Death's Gifts?" he whispered. He had heard stories about the so called 'Death's Gifts'. The last time he had heard about them, it had been shortly before he had returned to Britain where he had met Lancelot was brought to Arthur's Court. He had never been interested in rumours like that and had long since forgotten about them.

"A fairy tale," Lord McGonagall, who sat next to him, explained. "Nothing but rumours about a wand, a cloak and a stone that once belonged to Death. Whoever collects them all, is rumoured to be the next immortal Master of Death. Like I said, nothing but a fairy tale."

"_I am Death! I. Am. Death! I have its wand! I have its cloak! I have its power over the dead! I. Am. Death!"_ Sal heard Medrawed howl in his mind.

_A fairy tale?_

_Or was it the truth and Medrawed had them as well?_

_And if he had them, would it be more complicated to kill him or would it somehow ease their job?_

"You shouldn't think about that myth," Lord McGonagall added in that moment. "It's far less likely to be true than your idea with the split soul."

But Medrawed's soul was split, Sal knew it. Sal could feel the taint.

But did that make Death's Gifts real as well?

Did Medrawed's insane chatter make him the Master of Death?

"If they were real, how would you destroy a Master of Death?" Sal whispered.

Lord McGonagall shrugged carelessly.

"Take over the Gifts," he said. "If you have them all, you would be the next Master of Death and the old would lose his title. But like I said: it's nothing but an old fairy tale that was brought to us by the Romans."

Sal carefully kept his face emotionless.

"Of course," he said.

It was in that moment that the argument between Lord Slytherin and Antioch reached its peak. Both lords were clearly enraged but Lord Slytherin was the Chief of the Wizards' Council and because of that had the last word in their discussion.

"Well," Lord Slytherin said sneering. "If you think that you know how to get rid of your 'immortal' wizard – do it. We, as the Wizards' Council, have more important things to do than to listen to fairy tales!" Little did he know, that the decision he would make that day, would end his era within the next year. Instead of him, Barberus Bragge, later on famous for the introduction of the Golden Snidget into Cuadich –known in Harry's time as Quidditch – would take the seat of the Chief of the Wizards' Council.

"We met him on the way to the Council," Cadmus cried furiously. "He. Is. Real! And we have to stop him! And we need the Council to do it! You can't brush us of, simply because you don't want to believe us!"

But the most lords just shook their heads and refused to listen to the arguments of the Peverell brothers.

Not that it surprised Salvazsahar. Politicians had always had the tendencies to ignore things that could be a threat to their perfect little world. It had been like that on Arthur's court and it had been like that in the Gathering of the Lords. So why should it be different now?

Only the Lord McGonagall – a different one than the Lord that Sal had known back at the founders' time – looked as if he believed the Peverell brothers. He was the one who frowned at the other lords of the Council, but when he opened his mouth to object, Sal shook his head.

"They won't listen," he told the man. "They don't want to believe us."

Another lord, who sat next to McGonagall, nodded.

"The Lord Emrys is right, McGonagall. They won't listen," he said. "The Lord Peverell and his brothers will have to find a way to show them the truth if they truly want to be believed by them – and that won't be easy."

"And yet, you, Lord Bones, who don't like the Lord Peverell at all, believe him and his brothers," the Lord McGonagall remarked.

Lord Bones shrugged.

"I might dislike him," he said. "But I know that the Lord Peverell would never lie in a situation like that. Lord Peverell might be a selfish…_ person_… but he would never set himself up to be ridiculed if there wasn't a danger to his family."

Then the Lord Bones shrugged helplessly.

"Alone knowing that fact means that, even if I hate it, I'm forced to believe his story," he concluded gravely. "If I even had the slightest way to disable his credibility, do you truly think I wouldn't have taken it?"

The answer was a sigh from the Lord McGonagall.

"And like that you just shook up my hope that there are more sane persons in the room than insane. It seems that if even you can see that there has to be some truth to this story, then the others have to be insane or blind because they don't see it. That they were able to find the entrance to this hole they call a hall means that they could see it – and that leaves me solely with insanity. Lovely."

Sal snorted.

"And there they are asking why the Emrys family keeps away from the Council."

Two muffled laughter answered his statement.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"_**And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility." **_

It was the evening after the Council and Sal had been invited to the rooms the Peverell brothers had been given.

"Even if the Council does nothing, we can't let that go!" Cadmus exclaimed in that moment. He was pacing up and down the room while his brothers sat in their chairs and watched him. Sal had leaned against the wall next to the door and his gaze flickered between the brothers' faces.

"So, what do you want to do?" Sal finally asked.

"Find him and kill him!" Cadmus growled. "There has to be a way to do so!"

"If you find the object in which he contained a part of his soul and destroy it, you should be able to do so," Sal answered with an emotionless voice. Inwardly he felt sick by just thinking about killing the child he helped to raise.

"So… how do you find it?" Ignotus asked him. Sal sighed.

"By searching," he answered truthfully. "If you know the person who went through the ritual well enough you will be able to guess, what he could have used." Then he contemplated his brother and his wishes, hopes and obsessions.

"Of course if you don't know the person who did it, you'll have to use different means to find out," Sal added to what he had said before. "It's definitely far easier if you know the person but there are ways that would help you to find out if you don't."

"Well, but you do," Ignotus said. "So we will be able to use the easier method, won't we?"

This time Sal pressed his lips together. Of course he knew his brother, and of course he could think about things his brother could have used or would have liked to use but that didn't mean that there weren't other possibilities that Medrawed could have chosen.

"I might have an idea what he would have used," he answered the brothers. "But there are still a lot of other possibilities I might not know about."

"But at least you know some things that could be it," Ignotus said sighing. "Now, how do we find out if you're right with your guesses or if you're not?"

The answer was a helpless shrug from Salvazsahar.

"I think you'd be able to feel it if you encounter it," he said. "It reeks of dark magic and if you aren't a dark wizard you normally would refuse to touch it instinctively – or you would be compelled to touch it if there are wards on it to hide its true nature. I guess that the most obvious thing is that it tries to influence you somehow… at least that's what mother said."

Sal pondered on it a little bit more.

He had after all never encountered anything like a Horcrux, had he?

It was then that a flash of memory brought him back to second year all those life-times ago.

_The Diary. _

_Ginny. _

_Horcrux?_

The question was easily answered.

_Horcrux._

"They try to draw you in, they try to get used by you so that they will be able to gain power over you. If you use them, you will lose parts of your memory. You won't remember what you are doing for the Horcrux – but other than that I don't think that Horcruxes are easily to recognise," he finally said. "But then, other than as a child I never had an encounter with one of those and so I might not know some ways to recognise them."

He couldn't help them further, so finally the others started to debate if one of them had seen or felt something like that.

Sal was quite certain that not one of them would have had.

Medrawed was no idiot.

He wouldn't have hidden the Horcrux anywhere anyone would know. There was just one chance: he had never thought that there would be someone who knew him in the future. Maybe, just maybe Salvazsahar would be able to figure out where Medrawed had hidden his piece of soul.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_**Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. **_

_**In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination. **_

They weren't lucky.

Wherever they looked for the Horcrux, they found nothing.

Not at the home, Medrawed had once grown up in, not at Haughswards, not anywhere on the Isles. Sal soon started to suspect, that Medrawed had hidden the Horcrux away somewhere on the country, somewhere Sal had no clue about.

"Is there some place else, he could have hidden it?" Antioch finally asked. They weren't far away from Haughswards, the last location they had searched.

Sal sighed and then shrugged helplessly.

"I guess that he could have hidden it somewhere on the country," he answered simply. "The problem with that is, that I don't know where to look. I don't know where exactly he was over there."

"So, simply put: you're no help at all," Cadmus snorted.

Sal just frowned at the other man.

"It's not as if I was following my brother anywhere he went," he answered coolly, "I had other responsibilities than watching him leading his life – not adding to the fact that I thought him _dead_ for the last few_ centuries_!"

Cadmus just pressed his lips together.

"You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother," Antioch said in that moment. "I would never have gotten away with such a behaviour."

"I buried him! What else should I have done? By wind and fire, he was dead!" Sal cried. "I at least don't make a habit out of watching graves, just for the chance that the one buried is still alive! And I am a healer, I normally know when someone is dead! I checked before I buried him! Don't you understand? He shouldn't be alive anymore! He _shouldn't_!"

But he was – and that was the entire problem.

"He's right, you know, I shouldn't be alive anymore," another voice said suddenly and when Sal and the others turned, they found themselves facing Medrawed. "But I'm surprised that you checked on me after you returned to your time. I never thought I was that important to you, little big brother."

The grin on Medrawed's face broadened with every word he spoke.

"You were my brother, Medrawed, of course you were important," Sal answered bitterly. "I helped to raise you. Whatever you want to say about our relationship, don't you ever try to imply I didn't love you!"

The answer was a snort.

"And yet, here you are, ready to kill me."

Salvazsahar just smiled a bitter and sad smile.

"I might love you, Medrawed, but the oath I took as a guardian force me to work against you. I can't let you roam the world like you are just now. I am sorry."

The answer was a snort.

"You're just like father," Medrawed hissed. "You do nothing but cast me away for others!"

"You're acting as if you think that's easy for me to do!" Sal said heatedly. "I once swore to protect the innocents! I never thought that this oath would mean that I once would be forced to go against my own little brother! I love you, Medrawed! If the circumstances would have been just the slightest bit different – if you just hadn't gone against everything I stand for – I would have chosen you! But as it is, I can't. Not with the knowledge of what you have done!"

"What I have done? I?" Medrawed hissed. "I didn't do anything! It's all father's fault! It –"

"You killed, Medrawed! You decided to use a ritual that uses magic in an absolute perverted way! That wasn't Arthur's doing! That was yours – yours alone!"

Medrawed just scoffed.

"As if you ever understood me, little big brother," he said, then he grinned. "But well, at least this time I will finally be allowed to kill you – and don't worry, I will kill you. I won't let some goody two-shoes like you stay alive – not with your determination to kill people for your own 'greater good'!"

Another smile spread over Medrawed's face.

"Let's see who's truly the better of us two! Let's see how long you and your little friends will be able to hold me of!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_**The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. **_

Sal watched his brother intendedly.

The other one had been roaming up and down in front of them like a caged predator, but he hadn't attacked them – yet.

"Don't try to charge him by yourself!" Sal hissed in a warning tone of voice to the other three. "Don't react to his goading!"

All three brothers looked at Sal in disgruntlement.

"We know how to act," Cadmus admonished him. "We're not stupid."

Salvazsahar just pressed his lips together but decided that answering that statement would just end in a disagreement – and that was something they didn't need now.

"We're not children," Antioch added.

To Sal they were exactly that.

_Children._

_All three of them._

But he said nothing.

Medrawed instead grinned.

It seems that he had just waited for an opening like that, and he took it instantly with a look of glee on his face.

"But you are children," he told them, grinning madly. "All four of you. Little, stupid children!"

Antioch was grinding his teeth when he heard that.

"We're _not_ children, monster," he hissed. "Whatever you think about us, don't you dare to call us children! We're all three middle-aged wizards!"

"Antioch!" Sal hissed, trying to get Antioch Peverell's attention.

Medrawed's gin just broadened.

"Of course you are children!" he countered. "Look at you! Barely out of your nappies! And you need Salvazsahar to tell you what to do – like a mommy tells her baby what it's allowed to do and what it'll be punished for! Little children, all of you! Come on, babies, cry for your mommy!"

Antioch snarled at him. "We're not babies!"

"But that's what you are. Stupid little babies who are still listening to every word your mummy says!" Medrawed replied. "Just look at the way you're listening to Sally!"

"Don't listen to him!" Sal hissed.

The answer was a frown from Cadmus.

"He's right. You're not our mother, Salvazar! We don't need you to tell us what to do!" he returned heatedly.

"Like I said before, we know how to act," Antioch added, also frowning at Salvazsahar.

Ignotus just shook his head.

"Don't you see that you are doing exactly what this monster wants you to do by talking back to Salvazsahar?" he asked his brothers.

Those two just scoffed.

"Shut up, Ignotus," Antioch said. "I know exactly what I am doing."

"Are you?" Medrawed asked grinning. "Don't you want to confirm your strategy with mummy Sally first? I meant, you couldn't beat me the last time without him, either!"

"Antioch, no!" Ignotus cried, but he was too late.

His brother had long since charged the monster known as Medrawed in front of them.

_**That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand, and for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. **_

Medrawed did not even give Antioch a chance to get out his first curse.

He simply waved his wand and Antioch sailed through the air and landed on the ground a little bit away with a sickening thunk.

Then for good measure, Medrawed spoke another curse and Antioch started to scream with agony.

That was the moment Cadmus entered the battle and fired his curses at Medrawed, Ignotus following after him immediately and it was just for Sal's own reflexes and his knowledge with rune-based shields that rescued both brothers from the deadly curses that Medrawed shot at them.

"Ah, it seems my little big brother doesn't like to watch," Medrawed grinned. "But you're still standing so far away, little big brother. Don't you want to join us in the heat of this battle?"

And with that he pulled out a sword and switched his wand to his off-hand.

"Let's see how good you are against me," he grinned.

The following minutes were a massacre.

Sal had not even tried to watch the whole scenes from the side-lines. He knew of Medrawed's abilities with a sword and knew that neither Ignotus nor Cadmus would be able to deal with him – not that Sal himself was up to it. As good as he was, Medrawed had always been better.

In the end, Ignotus had lost a finger and was lying next to Cadmus, both of them unconsciousness and Sal would have joined them there if he hadn't had a lot of practice fighting Medrawed. Even with centuries between their last fight and now, Sal could still predict a lot of Medrawed's moves.

That didn't mean he was unharmed.

He had lost his knives and was bleeding out of several wounds. It just meant, that he was still standing.

Not that he would be standing for a lot longer.

Sal had always been a good knife-fighter, but his brother was a natural and had bested him ever since his brother had been eleven winters old.

So Sal wasn't surprised to see that his brother's long knife was just inches from his chest.

"One move, Salvazsahar, and I will kill you," Medrawed said, grinning evilly. "And believe me, I will do it. I won't mind your death at all."

_**And so Death took the first brother for his own.**_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_**Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. **_

Sal did not react to his brother's threat.

He had known since the first time he had met Medrawed again, that the boy from the past was long since dead and that the monster who took his place would have no qualm to kill his own family.

So there was just one thing he could do now: Ask the question he had wanted to ask since he found out what his brother had done. His brother would answer. He liked to boast even now.

"Why?" Sal asked his brother, bitterness evident in his voice. "Why did you do it? You already were the Master of Death – why did you have to use the forbidden ritual as well?"

"Because I wasn't sure if being Death's master was enough," Medrawed answered grinning. "And I had to survive! I am the King, after all! I just need Camelot and the lands that should have been mine by birth will finally truly belong to me!"

"Yours? _Yours?!_" Sal repeated disbelievingly. "Is that what you think? That it will be yours if you're just able to enter Camelot again?"

"Of cour-"

"No, Medrawed! _No!_" Sal interrupted him heatedly, not caring that the knife sliced his tunic slightly when he interjected his brother. "Camelot was never yours! You weren't born Arthur's heir! You simply weren't! The land is bound to him and his blood-line but you need to have his magic to make a claim and while you were lucky enough to at least have magic, you weren't born his heir! You were born of his blood – but blood isn't enough to make a claim on Camelot!"

"I was his only child! I had every right –"

"You weren't, Medrawed!" Sal interrupted heatedly. "You weren't! Don't you understand? You have always been the second born to Arthur!"

Medrawed just scoffed.

"That's what you say, but you didn't live it, so you have no idea, little big brother," he said coolly. "Like you have no idea what I have gone through in the last centuries!"

"But that's where you're wrong," Sal said bitterly while sparing a glance at the still unconscious brothers. "I know it because I lived it as well. I wouldn't lie to you. And even if I don't know how you felt for the last centuries, I can imagine what it has been like for you."

Medrawed snarled.

"You have absolutely no idea!" he cried furiously. "You have no idea how it was, Salvazsahar! Waking up in a foreign world with rules you cannot even think about being able to follow! Waking in a world that has moved on from your death as if it was nothing as if –!"

"I know what you felt, I understand you – but that does not explain away your deeds, little brother!" Sal interrupted Medrawed with hard eyes. "You aren't the first one to wake up in a world you do not know the rules of! I, too, woke in a world a lot different from the time I knew!"

"That does not count," Medrawed said, shrugging. "You planned to go to mother to be trained. You planed your trip! That's completely –"

"I definitely did _not_ plan my trip, Medrawed. Don't even think about deluding yourself about that! The truth is I was gripped and ripped away from my time without even being told a reason! I had no more preparation then you did!"

Medrawed snorted.

"You, little big brother, have _no_ idea!" he hissed. "I woke up in a world which had forgotten about me! In a world where the mighty castle of my father was nothing more but an academy to house apprentices! They had customs I have never seen before and they talked in a language I never heard be –"

"It told you, Medrawed. This. Is. No. Excuse for the crimes. You. Committed!" Sal hissed, fury tinting his voice with the hissing language of the snakes. "Don't you dare to try to excuse it! It was your choice that let to your crimes and not you waking up in a different world!"

Medrawed just shrugged this time.

"Maybe you're right, little big brother," he said. "But then, I was buried in the earth for about a thousand years, unable to do anything while my immortality healed my body from the wound I received. If it hadn't been a with goblin magic infused weapon I would have healed faster but father had to use one to stab me! You would have gone insane like I have if you had to endure being buried in the ground for such a long time!"

Sal shuddered. Medrawed was right. He possibly would have gone insane lying there for a thousand years. But then, he also knew that it had not only been the goblin magic that had worked against his brother.

"I might have gone insane," he said. "But I would never have become as twisted as you are. Don't deny it, Medrawed. Whatever you did before you fought with Arthur, I really don't know exactly what and how much and I am not sure if I want to know, was part of the reason why it took you so long to return. Not even talking about you returning from death when you clearly should have been dead after the wound you had!"

Medrawed shrugged disinterested.

"I somehow had to make sure that I wouldn't die in the fight, so I looked into it. I found two ways and finally decided to use them both – just to be sure, you know."

Sal shivered when he heard those words.

"You split your soul," it wasn't a question. There was no other way to explain Medrawed's insanity – not that being unable to die but also being unable to move for a thousand years would have helped, but then, Sal suspected that Medrawed did not remember every day buried. Sal even suspected that Medrawed might have come back to consciousness shy of leaving his grave. Medrawed had always been the one to exaggerate and to lie to gain sympathy from others.

"And if I did – what will you do?" Medrawed said, shrugging uncaringly. Sal shivered again.

"I still cannot believe you did a ritual mother warned us about!" he said. He didn't know how often he had said this sentence to Medrawed, but he just couldn't believe it, even now.

Medrawed shrugged again.

"Mother was weak. She never understood that some things have to be done to come closer to our Firbolg-inheritance. This ritual is one of them – after all our ancestors are immortal, so that just tells us we should be immortal, too."

Sal stared at his brother. Then he sneered.

"Don't try to reason with me,_ brother_. I am a healer. I would _not_ understand what you are talking about."

Medrawed just shrugged.

"You were always more like mother," he said. "No! You are like my father. Too blinded by your need to look out for others to understand an opportunity like that!"

"I think this time I am proud that you think I am like Arthur," Sal sneered. "I wouldn't even want to be like you!"

"And that's the reason why I am immortal and you just a little, lost boy!"

Sal's sneer just deepened.

"Don't you dare to tell me about immortality," he hissed. "I was living on this world long before you were born and I will live long after you finally die!"

Medrawed just laughed.

"There is no way that you lived before I was born because we are in your time now and mine is long gone!" he said laughing. "And believe me, you won't outlive me. You don't have the meanings. Look!"

And with that he held out his wand. Sal stared at it. He had seen this wand before – but not in the hands of his brother when they fought the last time… so where?

Of course, Sal knew thanks to the legend what want he was looking at, but that didn't explain the familiarity of the want itself.

_Where had he seen it before?_

"This is Death's wand," Medrawed said in that moment triumphantly. "I found this and its other pieces – the stone," he held up a stone with an engraving on it. "And the cloak," he pointed at the open cloak he was wearing. "They are the reason why I have still my body. They stop it from ageing and they healed me! They are the ultimate way to be immortal forever!"

Sal stared at the artefacts.

"What are they truly?" he whispered, while his senses hummed when he looked at them. Whatever they were, the magic embodied in them was foreign and powerful.

He had known the legend, but it was different being so close to them, feeling their call.

Whatever they were, they weren't wizard-made.

At least not by magic Sal had been in contact with.

"They are the Artefacts of Death," Medrawed said grinning. "I found them in Egypt. There even is a legend about them: The one true owner of them will live forever and ever! _I _am their owner! As long as they are in my possession I won't die!"

Sal snorted.

"You died on the battlefield with Arthur. You might have been resurrected later on but you still died on the battlefield first."

Medrawed just shrugged.

"A minor setback I will circumvent with time, I am sure," he said disinterested. "As long as I have them when I'm dead I will return. And now, dear brother of mine, it's time to die. After all I don't want you to squeal my secrets to all your little friends."

And with that the icy steel of a short blade bored itself under Sal's rips in his lung. Sal gasped for breath. His vision swam but he knew he could not let Medrawed get away. He knew he had to stop him.

So he did the only thing he could.

He opened his eyes.

Medrawed's dying scream filled the air, then he slowly but surely turned into stone.

_**Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. **_

In the same moment an Expelliarmus was heard behind Medrawed and the wand – the Death Stick – he was holding sailed through the air and vanished out of Sal's view.

A second later Medrawed's skin turned grey.

Sal staggered back, the long knife leaving his body.

As soon as the blade had left his body he lost his footing and fell. The weapon, as painfully it had been had been the only thing to keep him standing before.

Black points were flickering in Sal's vision and Sal knew instinctively, that his brother hadn't missed. The knife had pierced his lung.

Sal was dying.

Again.

_What a hassle._

And then a still shaking Antioch was by his side, falling to the ground next to him.

"Salvazar!" he said and this time Salvazsahar hadn't the energy to correct him. His vision was slowly but surely degenerating.

Soft, blood-strained hands started to support his upper body and then another pair of blood-strained hands – Ignatius', Sal recognized when he saw the missing little finger – carefully parted his robes and lifted his tunic to look at the wound.

"He won't make it," Ignatius said sighing to Antioch. "The blade entered his lungs. There is no way for us to heal him."

This just triggered Sal to laugh – not that he could laugh at the moment. Instead painful wheezing sounds emerged his body.

"Don't… worry," he gasped. "I survive."

Antioch frowned at him.

"Salvazar," he said. "He pierced your lung."

"I know," Sal answered wheezing. "Can't die. Unable."

Antioch's eyes widened.

"You're immortal?" he asked astonished with a slight fear tinting his voice. Sal managed to shake his head.

"No. Just… can't die," he said.

Antioch frowned but it was Ignotus who stopped him from saying more.

"Alright, Salvazar," he said. "You'll explain if – when you are able. Not now, later, yes?"

Sal attempted to nod but he wasn't sure that he still had enough control over his body to do it right. Then another thought occurred to him.

"Antioch," he said, still gasping for air. "Cloak. Stone. Way from Med… _him_. Ignotus touching. _Not_ you!"

Antioch frowned down at him.

"You want us to take away the cloak and the stone from the… statue – but I shouldn't touch them?" he clarified.

"Mustn't," Sal insisted.

"Alright. I won't touch them. Tell us later, yeah?" Sal could hear in Antioch's voice that he doubted Sal's claim that he wouldn't die. Sal didn't mind the doubt. He would have doubted it, too, if it was him.

So he said just one word as an answer.

"Good," and with that he let slip himself in unconsciousness.

_**And so Death took the second brother for his own. **_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_**But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son.**_

When he woke up again, he was lying in a bed, fully covered with a blanket.

He sighed.

At least they hadn't buried him – yet.

He sighed again, then he carefully raised his hands and uncovered his face.

His eyes fell on the ceiling. It was a tent-ceiling.

In that moment the entrance of the tent opened and Ignotus stepped in. He stopped mid-step when he saw that Sal was looking back at him. His eyes widened.

"So you truly are immortal," he said surprised.

Sal sat up.

"Something akin to that," he answered bitterly. "Tell me, were are the others?"

Ignotus' gaze darkened.

"They left," he answered. "They didn't believe your claim. If it were for them, you would have been buried days ago."

Sal frowned.

"So… what are they doing?" he asked hesitatingly. "Are they looking for the Horcrux?"

Ignotus just shook his head.

"They're studying the artefacts they took from your brother," he answered sincerely. "They've been at it since you died five days ago."

"And the Horcrux?"

Ignotus shrugged, but his face told Sal everything he needed to know.

"They won't start looking for it again," he hazard a guess. The answer was a bitter smile.

"I'm sorry, Salvazsahar," Ignotus said finally after a few seconds of silence.

Sal just shook his head. "I should have suspected something like that," he answered truthfully. "So, they are studying the artefacts?"

"Or using them," affirmed Ignotus. "Antioch said something of finally settling a dispute and Cadmus said something about apologising for having a daughter with another woman – not that he ever acknowledged that child."

"What about Medrawed?"

"Your brother? He's still stone and we thought it prudent to hide him away in a warded room in Haughswards. Don't worry, no one will be able to enter it except of us or you, I made sure of that."

"Thank you."

Ignotus just smiled for a moment, then his face darkened again.

"Not that my brothers truly need access to that room. They're now far too interested in those artefacts to even consider helping you."

"And you?"

"I've been waiting for you to wake up, Prince Salvazsahar," Ignotus answered with a smile. "I'll have to check on my wife and son from time to time, but I'll do everything to help you with finding that soul-piece you've been looking for."

Ignotus would long since dead when Sal finally would find the place Medrawed had hidden away his Horcrux. It had been hidden away in France, and confronting it would be the last nail in Sal's coffin. After all this time, he finally broke from the strain of being forced to live his life alone and without any support.

_He would never be able to continue on, with the guilt of his brothers dead weighting on his soul._

_**And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as equals, they departed this life.**_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._

_ Ebenbild_


	39. Chapter 38: A Child's Threat

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Sorry for the delay. School started again and I had to put it first, sorry._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**A Child's Threat**

sss

Harry thought Hallowe'en night was splendid this year. After his Occlumency lessons with Snape where he had allowed himself to break the man – just a little, of course, he needed the man sane later on after all, he had left the sleeping potions master in his sitting room and gone to the feast.

The feast had been as good as the last feast at Hogwarts he remembered – or better. Because last time there hadn't been a very pale Umbridge sitting at the head table who was just waiting to be hexed.

Not that Harry did any hexing. Why should he? There were other ways to bother the toad.

"Hey, Gred, Forge," he greeted the Weasley-twins and sat down in front of them.

"Harrykins," they answered, grinning. "Something to snack before the feast?"

Harry eyed the sweet they handed him, warily.

"Elephant head?" he asked after probing the sweet with a quick runic spell. "Sorry, guys, I don't think that grey is my colour."

The twins blinked and exchanged a glance.

Then the right twin – Harry knew for a fact that it was Fred – spoke up. "Ron's right, you know? You _are_ different from last year."

Harry just smiled at them.

"So I am," he answered, then the smile vanished and he looked at them with serious eyes. "Does it bother you?"

This time George answered. "Not really," he said. "It's just weird, seeing you acting all grown-up while our brother's still acting like a toddler like always."

"Not that you haven't been the more mature one before on occasions," Fred added.

"But now you're even scarier than Hermione – and she's a mini-adult since birth."

Harry suppressed laughter, hearing that.

"Hermione is still very much a child who believes in the adults around her. She still has a lot to grow until you could consider her an adult."

"Unlike you?" Fred asked.

Harry just grinned.

"Oh, I know exactly how to be a child once in a while," he said. "And like every child I enjoy some good pranks to lighten up the mood, don't you think so, too?"

Fred and George looked at each other before flashing a devil's smile his way.

"What are you thinking of?" they asked together.

"Maybe a new colour-scheme for toads?" Harry suggested.

At the end of the feast, Harry thought that being red and green striped with yellow polka dots, a swine snout and warts could be a new fashion trend for toads.

Especially pink-clad toads.

Of course, Umbridge was livid and tried to blame poor innocent Harry – something that the Deputy Headmistress refused to allow to happen. Harry was happy with that as well. He had trouble enough to keep in line when he was in his current detentions with her. Being with her for another detention could end in a dissected toad.

It would be a pity for his working hours because said toad would be unusable for potions.

It had been after the students had gone to bed that night, that Harry's real Hallowe'en finally begun. With the exhausted potion's master out of the way, Harry had practically free reign to do whatever he wanted in Hogwarts' halls that night without fearing that anyone more dangerous than Filch would roam the floors near him. Harry had long ago learned that McGonagall and the other teachers – except of Snape – just watched the main halls of the castle. If he did not use those halls, he was in no danger of being found.

"What are you planning, Harry?" Regulus whispered when Harry finally joined him in the Chamber of Secrets at midnight.

Harry smiled at the other man.

"Tonight is the night of the dead, Regulus," he answered sincerely.

It was an answer, but a non-answer as well.

"I don't think I understand…"

"It's time to let the dead walk on the earth once more," Harry elaborated.

"You want to create Inferi?!" Regulus asked horrified.

Harry snorted. "Of course not, you idiot!" he huffed. "I'm not stupid enough to dabble in the Evil Arts just because it's Samhain. There are other ways to 'resurrect' the dead."

"So what are you –"

"Nothing what I haven't done before for now," Harry answered before Regulus could even finish his sentence. And with that he stepped to the wall that hid his Ritual Chamber and opened it. Regulus looked in it and his eyes widened.

"A ritual?" he whispered fearfully.

Harry smiled gently and a little bit sadly at the other man.

"No, not_ a_ ritual," he corrected the younger man. "_The _ritual. The Samhain blood-magic ritual."

Regulus shuddered.

"To control your magic?" he asked nervously, remembering when the other man had first told him about the blood-rites he used on a yearly basis.

"Yes," Harry answered sadly.

"But… I don't understand what that has to do with resurrecting the dead," Regulus asked, fear now clearly in his eyes.

"Everything and nothing," Harry answered.

Regulus sighed.

"You won't tell me, will you?" he asked finally.

"No, not tonight," Harry answered looking at him with a sad smile. That was all it needed for Regulus to understand that tonight was different than the years before.

"What changes tonight?" he asked.

Harry sighed.

"I'm going to try seeing if I can connect with the castle wards and find the missing book on them," Harry answered sincerely. "It's a bit risky, doing that with a blood-magic ritual for my magic, but even with the guess I have, I need confirmation before I can get it. I might also try and find the Horcrux within Hogwarts."

"But… this is dangerous, isn't it?" Regulus asked hesitatingly.

Harry sighed again.

"Yes," he said. "If I loose concentration and because of that my grasp on my magic, it might even kill me. But I've done that ritual plenty of times already; I should be fine even with the added tasks."

Then the door of the ritual chamber closed between those two. "See you tomorrow, Regulus," Harry said.

"Or never again," Regulus added bitterly but silently. For a moment he still looked at the closed door that shielded the other man, his friend and father figure, from his sight; then he turned away from the door. "May fate and luck be with you tonight, because I can't."

And a single tear rolled down his cheek, before he pushed the danger the other man was facing out of his mind. There were still other things to do. Regulus had still not searched Minerva McGonagall's quarters and the Charms corridor for either the Horcrux or the book on the wards of Hogwarts. Of course there were even more parts of Hogwarts he hadn't searched, but those two were next on his ever growing list.

"Please stay alive tonight, Salvatio!" No reason to call him Harry if the other man wasn't around to hear, was there?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, was standing in front of the prison of Azkaban. The Dementors had turned on the aurors as soon as Voldemort had come and started to enter the prison.

Tonight would be the first victory for the Dark Side.

It was the perfect night for a new start; after all it had been Hallowe'en all those years ago when his empire crumpled thanks to a fifteen month old child. It was just right to rebuild his empire on the same night now – not that he planed to make his return truly official tonight. He just planed to return the fear to those pampered creatures that called themselves wizards.

In that moment another wizard in the black Death Eater's garb apparated next to him and fell to his knees in front of him.

"The final wards are down, my Lord," the Death Eater said.

"Then it will be time to get my most loyal ones out of here," Voldemort answered coolly. "Enter in pairs and take down every auror you come across."

"Yes, my Lord," the Death Eater replied and bowed even lower. Then he apparate away to where Voldemort's troops had gathered.

Voldemort's snake-like face twisted in an evil smile.

"Let us show magical Britain that there is nothing they can do if Voldemort decides to make something his," he muttered grinning and then gave the signal for the attack on Azkaban.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry put down the knife that he had used for the ritual. He opened his eyes and then slowly reached out to destroy the runic circle around him.

Now was the moment.

The one moment he had dreaded since he understood what he would have to do tonight.

His last hesitation had been nipped in the butt when he had seen Snape's memories of Albus Dumbledore refusing aid to Azkaban and the plans of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry might not be a Gryffindor, but he knew that there was no way he would make it easy for the man who had wronged him – and keeping the wards of Hogwarts like they were now, would make it easy for the wanna-be Dark Lord. Harry knew that Hogwarts would be a target for Tom Riddle as soon as he had enough confidence to go up against Albus Dumbledore. The Headmaster might be content to risk the children he should protect, but Harry wasn't and if Harry had to play a Gryffindor to stop some of Tom Riddle's ambitious plans, so be it. After all, Harry was still getting the most of this whole ordeal tonight – even if his sanity might be at stake for it.

Of course he knew that using blood-magic for the magic, like he was doing tonight, was tricky. Every ritual to aid the flow of the magic through the body had to be planned carefully. Not, that the other blood-magics weren't dangerous but doing blood-magic for your magic was not only dangerous but the power-rush you felt afterwards – not that you had more magic afterwards, it was just flowing better – simply was addicting. There had been thousands of druids in times long past who had given in to the feeling and had died an extremely painful death just a few days later. If you gave in, your magic would react to it and it would not stop to rush through your body anymore. Magic like that would burn you inside out in the end – a slow and extremely painful death.

_Instant insanity and a painful death – and all because of not reigning in your own magic._

"But what does my son Anastasius like to say? No risk, no fun," Harry thought to himself and grinned.

He destroyed the runic circle that shielded him from the raving madness of his own power.

Instantly pain shot through his body, followed by the intoxicating feeling of absolute power.

_He was powerful!_

_He could do everything!_

_There was nothing that could stop him, no one that could face him and tell the tale!_

His magic was coursing through his body, consuming him and his mind.

For a moment he felt as if his own power would overwhelm him, then he took a deep breath and threw out his magic, connecting it to the wards. It was something that, under normal circumstances wouldn't have been possible. A living being – no matter how old – shouldn't be able to insert its own magic in the wards to search for something. The magic of the wards, even if they were cast by the individual that tried something like that, were maintained by the magic of the earth itself and because of that shouldn't be accessible to anyone – no one should be able to see beneath them and search what they shielded.

But Harry was different.

Unlike normal ward-casters, he had once died for the wards of Hogwarts – and even if he couldn't actively manipulate or dissemble the wards in this state, he could at least use them to search within their boundaries for things connected to them.

It took but moments for him to confirm his suspicion about the where-about of the ward-book of Hogwarts.

He had been right.

It was exactly where he had thought it would be.

Then his mind turned to the next thing he had been searching – the Horcrux. What he found instead was something totally different.

One moment he wasn't certain, what he was feeling, then his eyes widened.

_A curse._

_A curse on a specific position in the school._

_The defence-curse._

And it was not only bound to its caster but also to something else inside the wards.

_The Horcrux?_

Before Harry could even think on following the connection to the Horcrux, something broke his concentration.

Happiness and triumph swamped his mind, destroying the iron-clad control he had on his still very wild and wonky magic. Instantly another spark of absolute power shot through his system – just that this time around he wasn't prepared for it.

The intoxicating feeling of absolute power branded against his mental shields like a storm flood against a dyke. The first wave was stopped by his shields, but the second simply overcame them as if they were nothing but a small nuisance – after all, his Occlumency-walls were built of the same magic that was suddenly wreaking havoc within his mind and body.

There was no way to stop it.

_He was powerful!_

**Think!**

_He could do everything!_

**Think, Salvazsahar!**

Within his mind something was pleading with him to return to his former state of control, but Harry couldn't, wouldn't listen. It felt so good! So very good!

_He was unstoppable!_

**Clear your mind!**

_There was nothing that could stop him!_

**It's your magic! Take back control!**

_There was no one that could face him and tell the tale!_

His magic was coursing through his body, consuming him, destroying him. Then it hit the runic connection that was the cause for all this evil. It was the runic connection he had built once, about twenty years ago now, to a certain Dark Lord so that he was still able to monitor that man. It was built to warn him if the Dark Lord was feeling powerful emotions. He could not truly invade the other mans mind with it, but some images were still shown to him if they were connected with strong emotions by Tom Riddle – like the dreams of the corridor in the Ministry of Magic.

But it also was this runic circle that had interrupted his concentration and made him loose control in the first place.

His magic hit the circle.

Then the runic circle, he had created in his mind connected with the single rune that bound his mind in a loose way to the Dark Lord's, swamped him with knowledge.

Images of Azkaban filled his mind and if Harry would have been able to think clearly, he would have argued with himself that doing what he was about to do was far to dangerous. But his mind was screaming with the idea of its own power and the rune was there like a beacon and Harry couldn't resist.

Not such a temptation.

Not such an opportunity.

He grinned and his eyes lightened up with death.

"Tonight you're mine, Tom Marvolo Riddle," he whispered. "Let's teach you some fear."

And with that he apparated out of the ritual chamber, out of Hogwarts – even if by all means it should have been impossible to do so.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Something was wrong.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the feared Lord Voldemort, was searching the halls of Azkaban for the threat he was feeling.

He had just had a talk with the Head of the Dementor's coven of Azkaban. They had been in the middle of forging a new bond – and then, suddenly, the air had shifted and something had changed in the atmosphere.

Something was wrong.

The coven-leader in front of him hesitated, clearly feeling the wrongness as well.

But even with the feeling of wrongness warning him, Voldemort wasn't prepared for what would happen next.

Fire.

Red and golden fire suddenly lit the stone-walls. There were no torches that were lit, no candles. It was the stone itself that suddenly started burning with fire.

And then the unearthly cry of a phoenix filled the air.

A moment later Voldemort heard the yelling of some of his Death Eaters.

Then silence.

Utter and absolute silence.

The Dementors hesitated and started to gather behind their leader.

The leader instead turned around to face Voldemort and its unearthly voice, not more than a deadly whisper filled the air. "You dared to come here, promising us the freedom to feed and to breed – while all the while working with one of those?!" Fury could be heard in that whispering voice, fury and fear.

"One of what?" Voldemort asked coolly.

"One of the half-breeds! One of those deadly bastards!" the leader hissed.

The answer was a laugh – but the laugh wasn't coming from Voldemort but from a boy that vaguely looked like Potter.

Just that the boy in front of him had shoulder-long hair and an unearthly green shine around him. The boy's eyes were lightened up with a living Avada Kedavra and the boy's body somehow seemed a little bit see-through and he was clearly pulsing with magical power.

"I'm not with him, leader of the coven," the boy said while smiling the grin of a born predator. "But you are right with one thing: I came because of him."

The coven-leader shrunk back.

"Return to where you come from, child of our blood! Return! We don't want you here!" The Dementor whispered.

The boy just crooked his head.

"Return? Why?" He asked interested. "After all, you were the one who was about to break the contract – so why do you try to get me to leave now, after you put yourself in my merciful hands just moments ago?"

The answer was a wordless hiss from the Dementor.

"Your hands are anything but merciful, child of our soul!" it returned finally bitterly.

The boy just raised an eyebrow.

"I let you and your coven live, all those years ago," he said. "Don't you think that that was an act of mercy, considering that you invaded my land with the wish to conquer?"

The Dementor shuddered.

"Whoever your parents were, child, they were clearly insane," it hissed. "Or how else can you explain that your Dementor-parent mated with a Phoenix?"

The answer was another laugh and Voldemort somehow felt a little bit left out at that.

And Dark Lords definitely didn't like to feel left out.

He turned to the ghostly boy, ready to frighten the child – but Bellatrix Lestrange was faster.

With a furious hiss she stormed at the boy and tried to tackle him.

She did not even reach him.

The unearthly green shine that surrounded the boy flung out and touched her midair before she could even try to shield herself from it. For a moment, she lightened up in a green that was nearly as bright as the Avada Kedavra; then she was thrown through the air. With a deep thunk she collided with one of the stone walls of the prison.

She bounced back from the wall and came to rest on the floor between Voldemort and the boy in front of him.

The boy's eyes were trained on her.

Then he looked up in Voldemort's eyes and raised one eyebrow.

Voldemort stood in front of the boy. His eyes swept to Bella who was lying like dead on the ground right between them.

He looked up at the boy.

Cold death-green eyes met his red ones.

"Afraid, Tom?" the boy asked, crocking is head and studying him. Voldemort snorted at this question.

"You're a mere boy – why should I be afraid of someone like you?!"

The answer was a mysterious smile.

"Because I am who I am" the boy answered, then he shrugged. "But I don't think you have enough respect to even care about who I am…"

"And who are you, boy? Potter maybe?" Voldemort did not know what to think about the boy in front of him, but even with the unearthly shine around him, the boy seemed far too young to be any kind of danger to a Dark Lord.

The boy in front of him laughed at his suggestion.

"Potter?" the brat repeated. "No, I'm not a potter, Tom. I'm far too fond of being a healer to ever think of training as a potter."

Voldemort growled.

"Harry Potter," he elaborated. He was quite sure that the boy had misunderstood him deliberately – and he definitely wasn't amused by that fact.

The answer was a laugh.

"_Harry _Potter?" he repeated. "So, you're still after a mere babe just because you were beaten by it one time?"

"_Crucio_!" Voldemort thought that this was the best way to get the boy to stop mocking him.

The boy did not even bother to dodge.

The curse hit him head on and fried the Death Eater behind him when it did not strike the body of the child but went through it as if it was a ghost.

The boy looked at his hands in interest.

"Seems as if I'm fading," the brat said with interest in its voice. "Never thought that something like that would be the effect of this ritual gone wrong…"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

Then the boy looked up again, his green eyes meeting Voldemort's red.

"Harry Potter should be your last concern," the brat dared to say. "He's not a danger to you in any way or form."

"And you are?" Voldemort hissed.

The boy laughed at that.

"_If you cross my plans, I'll vanquish you_," he answered the Dark Lord in soft, hypnotic hisses. "_Don't worry, you'll cross me eventually_."

Then the boy's magic sparked in an odd way – as if it was fighting the boy's body itself.

The boy looked at his hands again.

"Seems as if my consciousness is fighting my control over his body – damn healer's oath," he said grinning. "If it weren't, power would have been the only thing I would have carved now."

Then he grinned at Voldemort.

"But then, power is the thing you carve – maybe I should at least steal a little bit from you before I come back to my mind."

Voldemort opened the mouth to utter another curse, but he was too late.

He could just watch when his plan for Azkaban crumpled and the boy vanished in a bout of flames.

In the next moment the Dark Mark lightened up the sky and Voldemort's plans of a silent rescue of his followers was reduced to ashes.

If he ever found out who cast the mark, they would be punished severely!

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The day after Hallowe'en – and also the day after the raid in Azkaban, Albus Dumbledore was standing in front of the Wizengamot.

"Do you still believe that_ He_ isn't back?" He asked the other Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot heatedly. "Yesterday night, twenty aurors perished in Azkaban and the Dark Mark was cast in the sky above the castle!"

"So you're telling us, that You-Know-Who has to be back, just because the Dark Mark was cast?" Fudge said sneering. He had better things to do than to listen to Albus Dumbledore's senile ramblings. He had been just about to get information on Oliver Twist from Xenophilius Lovegood. Of course, the man had refused to cooperate even with the threat of an auror right next to him – but Cornelius was sure that the man would carve in soon. The Ministry had the better connections after all and even with the retainer Xenophilius Lovegood had hired, there was no way for Cornelius to lose.

And now, instead of working on the real threat, he was sitting in the Wizengamot meeting, listening to an old man's ramblings.

"He is back! And he has freed his loyal ones from Azkaban!"

"Well, I think it was Sirius Black who helped them to flee. After all, he knows how to break out of Azkaban – he did it before. It's logical that he returned now to break out his cousin and her husband and all his other Death Eater friends," Lucius Malfoy said and Cornelius had to give it to the man. This truly was the most logical conclusion.

And it seemed that the other members of the Wizengamot mostly thought that as well, because he could see them nodding and murmuring. Just a few loyal followers of Dumbledore like the Longbottom matriarch and some paranoid ones like Alastor Moody looked as if they didn't want to believe the words of Lucius Malfoy.

"And I also think that that's the end of those rumours, that Black might be innocent," Cornelius Fudge added and looked at Amelia Bones. Said woman returned his gaze with icy eyes.

"I fear, that that's where you're wrong, Minister," she said and stood up. "Because Sirius Black is what I am here for, today."

Cornelius' eyes narrowed.

"What are you talking about, Amelia?" He asked.

The answer was a grim smile.

"You asked me to look into the case of Sirius Black, Minister," she said. "I am here today to present my findings."

Again there were murmurs all around the room. Albus Dumbledore frowned. It seemed like the old man hadn't heard about Cornelius' inquiry beforehand like he normally did.

The next minutes were downright shattering for Cornelius.

Amelia had been thorough. She had evidence. She had memories and she had an oath from Sirius Black that everything he sent her was true. The oath had been signed in blood and was because of that as binding as every other unbreakable vow.

In the end, Amelia Bones's verdict was clear.

Sirius Black was innocent.

"But… but…" Cornelius stuttered. "But Azkaban! The break-out!"

"Wasn't done by Sirius Black," Amelia answered coolly. "Like I said before. I have proof that he didn't betray the Potters and I have prove that he didn't kill Peter Pettigrew, the true betrayer. If you want to see the memories, I'll show you, but like I said, I verified them. There is no way that Sirius Black could have forged them."

"So you are on Dumbledore's side now. You want to believe his lies that You-Know-Who is back!" Cornelius concluded sneering. The answer was a frown from Amelia Bones.

"No," she said and Cornelius relaxed slightly. It seemed that Amelia hadn't succumbed to Dumbledore's madness. "I just wanted to point out that it couldn't have been Black who did it, Minister," she said. "I never said anything about You-Know-Who."

"Well, if it wasn't Black, then maybe it was Pettigrew?" Lucius Malfoy said. "After all, since Black hasn't killed him, that man is still alive and if Black wasn't You-Know-Who's right hand man, than at least Pettigrew has to have a place in his inner circle. Maybe he heard about Madam Bones' inquiry and panicked? It would be logical to try and free other Death Eaters so that we don't concentrate on solely him."

"Yes! Yes! If it wasn't Black, than Pettigrew must have done it!" Cornelius' said. "After all, he has to be a very sly and sneaky Death Eater! He faked his death after all and blamed it all on Black!"

When Cornelius looked around, he saw that the other Wizengamot members were nodding. His eyes returned to Amelia and the woman inclined her head. It seemed as if she thought this possible as well.

"You are wrong!" Albus Dumbledore said in that moment. "I doubt that Peter Pettigrew could do something like that alone! He isn't resourceful enough to…"

"But he was resourceful enough to hide away for more than a decade, while at the same time blaming an innocent man for his murder," Theodore Nott Sr. said. "I believe that if someone is able to hide for so long, than he is also resourceful enough to free some Death Eaters from Azkaban – especially after he saw that it was possible when the scion of Black escaped!"

"It was Voldemort! If you don't…" Albus Dumbledore boomed. Cornelius turned out the rest of his mad ramblings. He wasn't interested in listening to the madness of a once great man. So Cornelius preferred to think about a way to get information on Oliver Twist out of Xenophilius Lovegood in time to stop the brat before he could undermine the Ministry's credibility even more than he did until now.

"Minister!" it was Amelia Bones who brought Cornelius back to the present discussion. Albus Dumbledore had gone silent and Amelia was looking at Cornelius with expectation in her eyes.

"Could you repeat that, Amelia?" he asked.

"Minister, what should we do now after we know the truth about Black?" she repeated dutifully.

That was indeed a good question.

Cornelius would have preferred to let it be like it was, but he also knew that at least some of those present remembered that Black should have a seat in the Wizengamot with them. Adding to that that Lucius Malfoy was married to Black's cousin and Cornelius couldn't afford to do what he would have liked.

"We need to contact him. We also need to give him back his rights... and we will have to apologize to him for his treatment by the former government body, "Cornelius grimaced at that, but there was no way around it. "He has to be recompensed and…"

He trailed of, not sure if there was anything else they needed to do.

"What about asking him to submit to St. Mungo's for treatment?" Amelia Bones suggested. "If he passes the tests about mental health, he will be released and will be able to take up his duties as Lord Black. Like that we can be sure that he's safe for everyone else when he's released."

"A good idea, Madam Bones," Cornelius said. "Please contact the press. I will talk to them later on." And Cornelius would make sure that the world knew that it had been his predecessors who imprisoned an innocent man and that Cornelius had been the one to find out and free him.

"Are there any other things that need to be discussed?"

After that, the Wizengamot session ran smoothly as always.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Somewhere else, Xenophilius Lovegood hummed happily while he started to print the next edition of _The Quibbler. _He was sure, that the article, Oliver Twist had written this time would definitely bring some new trouble for the Wizarding World.

The article itself might not be aimed at the Wizarding World in general – but it aimed at one of the most important institutions of their world. There would definitely be a lot of interest in the newly printed article.

Not, that there hadn't been interest in them before. Since the day Xeno had printed the first article of Oliver Twist his subscribers had increased tenfold. Xeno even had trouble to print the editions of his newspaper alone now. He soon would need some help printing to be able to print enough for his subscribers.

And then there was the interest of the _Witch's Weekly _in the articles of Oliver Twist. They had printed one of the first articles in their magazine and returned to him to ask if they were allowed to print others also.

Of course, Xeno had to discuss this with Oliver Twist first. Now the _Witch's Weekly _was also publishing the articles – even if it was two days later then in _The Quibbler._

In that moment someone knocked on Xeno's door and he went to open it.

"Barnabas Cuffe" he greeted the wizard standing in front of his door.

"Xenophilius Lovegood" Barnabas, the editor in chief of the _Daily Prophet _returned the greeting. "Well met my friend."

"Well met" Xeno said and winked the wizard in. He showed Barnabas to his living room and then went to get some tea. Luna always told him that it was easier to talk with a good cup of tea in front of you and Xeno followed his daughter's advice. He knew she was smarter then him and would know things like that.

"So, how may I help you?" he finally asked when he returned with the tea in his hands.

"I wanted to ask for permission to print the articles of Oliver Twist," Barnabas answered.

When Xeno just raised an eyebrow, Barnabas smiled.

"Today a barrister entered the _Daily Prophet's_" he told the man in front of him. "Some of our shareholders were not happy about the biased things we were printing. They combined their share and have overthrown the grasp of the Ministry on us. Now we have some stipulations for printing. We have to research seriously and we have to stop printing gossip."

"You sound happy about that" Xeno remarked. Barnabas just smiled.

"It's finally like it used to be before" he answered. "And because of that I would like to ask for permission to print the articles of Oliver Twist. He does his research quite well and has not written anything wrong until now. And he knows how to write. The people are following what he has been writing since he started at _The Quibbler."_

"And I wondered why suddenly the people all seem interested in Cackling Cragglers and Shrinking Bubblers…" Xeno uttered and Barnabas looked at him bewildered. Xeno just shrugged inwardly and continued to speak: "Write him a letter and I will forward it. It is Oliver's decision if he wants his texts printed in the _Daily Prophet."_

"Do…" Barnabas hesitated. "Do you know who he truly is?"

"No" Xeno answered immediately. "I do not. He contacts me through Gringotts and he has a Vault there under his pen name. I do not know his real name. His contract is also handled by Gringotts. If he truly starts writing for you, he will ask you to do the same. Like that no-one is able to get information about him through me or those he is also working with."

"Clever" Barnabas commented. "The Ministry will have a hard time to trace him."

"They will – when they start searching, that is."

"They will" Barnabas answered. "He might aim at Hogwarts for now but I am sure that his sharp tongue will not stop by the Minister and his goons."

"Definitely not" the time Xeno smiled grimly. "And I am just waiting for the day he is finally turning his eyes to the Ministry."

Barnabas was not shocked when he heard the nice Xeno Lovegood declare he was waiting for the deconstruction of the Ministry. Everyone that knew Xeno's history knew that he was at odds with the Ministry since the day he left them for good. Before that Xeno Lovegood had held a respected position in the Ministry.

"I do not think you have to wait much longer" Barnabas said.

Xeno just smiled.

"I know" he answered. "I know my friend." And with that he took his cup of tea to drink. Barnabas just smiled and did the same. There was some time left until he had to return to work. Just now he had his lunch break – so why not harbor it at the home of an old friend, a man he knew from his time at school?

After all there was a letter to write and some serious news to print afterwards.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Later that day another meeting was held. A meeting that was one out of six – some of them already concluded, some of them still waiting for the final verdict.

The room was barely lit and dark shadows chased the light of the candles along the walls. At one side was an ornamented, oak desk with an overstuffed, black armchair behind it. On the wall above the chair, a crest was embodied into the stones. The crest showed a silver serpent wrapped around a white lily on a light green grounding.

A tall, blond and blue-eyed man stood in front of the desk, his forehead wet with sweat. His eyes were fixed on the crest that was barely visible in the shadowy room.

"You know the protocol," another voice said. The voice belonged to a young man with traditionally braided hair and green, open robes. A silver basilisk was stitched on the black tunic beneath his robes. "It's your decision, but you have to make it now."

The sweating man gulped nervously.

"The crest," he said hesitatingly. "It's… it's not a joke, is it?"

"You know the answer to that question," the boy replied and his deathly green eyes fixated the other man with a cold stare.

"Yes or no, Lord Adrian Greengrass?"

The answer was a scoff.

"You're asking me if I decide to join your Grand Family? _The _Grand Family? Shouldn't it be obvious, that I wouldn't say no even if I would have to work together with Albus Dumbledore himself?" the blond man snorted.

"I need a clear answer, Lord Greengrass," the young man admonished the older one softly. "Yes or no?"

"Yes! Yes, of course!"

"Even if I tell you that it's the Weasleys and the Longbottoms you will to have to work with?"

"Like I said, I even would work with Dumbledore to be able to pin my name to this crest!"

"No need for that. Dumbledore is definitely no one who will ever be politically allied with this family."

The answer was a grin from the blond man.

"So the Weasleys finally stopped listening to every word the new Merlin of the magical world says?" he asked the younger one. "It seems that they have at least some common sense at last."

The answer was a chuckle from the younger man.

"They also have some decorum, now," he told the Greengrass-Lord. "Augusta Longbottom insisted on teaching them the proper manners for the Wizengamot."

"Will wonder never increase?" the other man said while shaking his head. Then he smiled viciously and bowed to the younger man. "I'm looking forward to the official forming of our alliance."

The younger man just inclined his head.

"Until then, Lord Greengrass," he told the lord.

The other lord nodded.

"Until then," he replied; then he spoke the activation password of his port-key and vanished.

Deathly green eyes lit up with unearthly Phoenix-fire.

"Well, Albus Dumbledore," he whispered satisfied. "That's another nail in your coffin."

Then he leaned back against the table and drew another shuddering breath. He had hidden the pain he was in from the praying eyes of the other man but now, that he was alone; he gave in and rubbed his hurting chest.

A knock on the hidden door made him turn around.

"Enter," he said and a goblin opened the door.

"You should rest, Morganaadth," the goblin said. "It is a wonder that you're alive, after all, and refusing to rest just aggravates your condition."

The boy smiled a bitter smile.

"At least the experience didn't kill me," he said.

The goblin just sighed. "No, but you were lucky that you are as old as you are – and that you have been a healer for the most of your life. If you weren't and if your oath wouldn't have been as old and integrated as it is, you would have died –"

"Slowly and painfully, I know," the boy interrupted. "Thank you for caring, Nardog."

The answer was a scoff.

"You are my clan-leader, Morganaadth. Of course I care for you. And now – go to bed. Rest. I don't want to see you up and about for at least another twenty-four hours."

"Of course, _mother_," and with that sarcastic remark, the boy left the room to do what he had been told.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tom Marvolo Riddle, known by most solely as 'Lord Voldemort', 'The Dark Lord' or 'You-Know-Who', sat on his throne in Malfoy manor in fuming silence.

The raid on Azkaban had not happened as he had planed it. Sure, he had been able to free his imprisoned, loyal Death Eaters, but the price had been higher than expected. Instead of returning with an army of dementors that just waited for his every demand, he returned with a hissed "Don't come near us ever again!" from their leader. The dementors had refused the alliance after the child had vanished and there had been nothing that could change their minds again.

"My Lord," Voldemort looked up, not at all happy with the interruption by his follower. It was just the presence of the black-clad stranger who stood right behind the Death Eater that had dared to interrupt him in his brooding, that stopped him before he could _crucio_ his follower.

The Death Eater gulped. It seemed as if he could see Voldemort's wish to hurt him in his Lord's eyes.

"M…my L…lord, there… there's someone who wanted to meet you," the Death Eater stuttered.

The black-clad stranger behind the Death Eater snorted; then he swept around him, just to stop a few feet in front of Voldemort's throne.

The stranger bowed and Voldemort looked at him curiously.

"It is a pleasure meeting you, descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the Great," the stranger said and when he looked up Voldemort could finally place the pale complexion and dark eyes of the stranger.

_A vampire._

_The stranger was a vampire._

"The pleasure is mine," Voldemort said coolly. He knew how to act to get new followers – and being rude definitely wouldn't help him with a vampire who was obviously trained to act like a lord.

The answer was the shadow of a smile on the vampire's face.

"I am Anastasius Sanguini," it said. "I am here to renew the bond between my clan and the Lord of Slytherin."

Maybe this day wasn't as bad as Voldemort had thought previously.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. Sorry, that it took so long. Real life can be a bitch._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	40. Chapter 39: Sniffling Mad-Eye

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information:**__ all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Beta-ed by C'mon_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Sniffling Mad-Eye**

sss

Potter left Hogwarts.

Potter _left _Hogwarts.

Potter **LEFT **Hogwarts – without being stopped, without being guarded and definitely without any problems!

If Mad Eye had not been in Diagon Alley today, if Mad Eye hadn't had his magical eye – he would have never seen Potter going through the alley as if it was normal for a student to visit Diagon Alley on a weekend in the beginning of November!

What was _Potter_ doing in Diagon Alley?!

Mad Eye did the only reasonable thing to do in his mind: he followed the boy – a boy who might not be a boy.

"Am I truly right? Is he an imposer?" Mad Eye thought again. It would explain how Potter had been able to leave school grounds and find his way to Diagon Alley. If he was an imposer he surly was able to apparate!

Mad Eye just had to confirm and prove it!

There was just one problem with his plan: Potter headed into Gringotts.

Mad Eye followed – just to see Potter open a side-door and enter the hallway behind it.

For a moment Mad Eye started to follow, then his brain caught up with him and he stopped.

No one entered the hallways behind any doors of Gringotts but the goblins or wizards with goblin guards. There was no way Mad Eye would be able to do so… at least not without being bodily harmed and maybe killed…

But Potter…

Mad Eye stared at the door Potter had closed behind himself as if it was a dragon. He just stood there and stared, stared and waited for Potter to be thrown out – hurt, tortured and maybe dead.

A minute went by, another, five, ten more…

Nothing happened.

_Why?!_

Mad Eye _knew…_

Mad Eye had seen what happened if a wizard disregarded the treaty with the goblins. He _knew _what happened if you entered their realm without a proper escort! He had_ seen_ it – and it hadn't been pretty at all…

And the goblins would never be unaware of a trespasser like that! They lived and breathed the same motto as Moody: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

"May I help you, sir?" Mad Eye blinked and looked down to his knees where a goblin in full armor was standing, eyeing him warily.

Mad Eye had been so fixated at the door that he had even forgotten his own life motto of CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

"Er… a boy entered in that door… without a guard… a couple of minutes ago…" Mad Eye finally said, much too stunned to think over his words before answering.

It was as if his whole world had ceased to exist like he knew it – and it was further crashed when the goblin in front of him answered with a snarl.

"The '_boy'_ as you call him, _wizard_, is a highly respected clan-leader. If you ever disrespect him like that again I will cut out your tongue before I bare you entrance to Gringotts! It is his every right to enter over there if he so wishes. And now leave. We don't need_ wizards _prying in our business!"

Mad Eye gawked at the goblin.

Then he did the only thing he could do: he left Gringotts and decided to wait outside and trail the boy again.

"At least now I am sure that this truly is an imposer!" Mad Eye snarled to himself. "There is no way that the Potter boy is able to get enough respect from the goblins to be recognized as a well-respected clan-leader…!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Magnus Adam Selwyn was an experienced barrister. He was working for Fawley&amp;Flint&amp;Selwyn and had seen a lot in his fifty-one years of life, except that he had never ever seen – he hadn't even _dreamt _about – something as unusual as he had been facing for month now, in his whole life.

Adam Selwyn – he hated the name 'Magnus' with passion – was the first barrister ever of a goblin clan-leader. Well, a human looking clan-leader of the goblin nation, but that made it even more special than it was already – simply because there shouldn't be a human looking goblin clan-leader. The goblins never got along with wizards; Adam had no idea how those special circumstances came into being, that ended with a human looking goblin clan-leader – and Adam wasn't truly sure if he wanted to know.

It was enough for him to know that he was working for the only human looking goblin clan-leader in the world.

And he had the biggest coup going that he was able to imagine – not that he had imagined that when he was called to Gringotts the first time, about three months ago.

At that time, the circumstances around his new, potential client, had been a first for him as well.

He had been contacted by a goblin – just to be led to one of the hidden bureaus of Gringotts that normally were only accessed by a few, carefully picked wizards, mostly lords or high ranking officials. Adam was neither so he had never expected to ever see those halls.

Adam did not know what to expect from this meeting.

Well, the goblin that had contacted him had clearly stated he was doing so for his client and not for himself – but Adam had never heard about a wizard using a goblin to contact a lawyer before…

In that moment his guide stopped in front of a richly carved double-door and opened it.

"The lawyer, Nardog," he said.

"Let him in," was the answer and a second later Adam was all but shoved in the room behind the doors.

The doors closed behind his back like the entrance to a tomb.

Adam frowned.

_What now?!_

"Sit, Mr. Selwyn," the goblin said and shoved a money bag in Adam's direction. "For today."

Adam nodded.

He knew that when he was paid for today that even if he did not accept the final offer, he would be unable to speak about it – as for today, the goblin in front of him was his client.

"So tell me, Master Goblin, how may I be of service?" he asked, taking the money.

"We'll see," the goblin answered, eyeing him critically.

"First I need to know some things – and then I will decline or accept you."

Adam nodded.

"That's nothing new," he answered.

"I thought as much," the goblin said. "So, tell me, Mr. Selwyn, are you a follower of Albus Dumbledore?"

Adam blinked in surprise.

Normally he was asked if he was a Death Eater or other things – _but that?!_

He hesitated for a moment.

He did not like Dumbledore very much. He had been a Slytherin in Hogwarts and the old man had never seemed to be really fair – and of course the other Slytherins hated him with passion…

"I… no," he finally said, sitting straight. "I do not follow his agenda. I have too many friends on the other side."

He knew that this would be the end of this job – there was no way he would be granted another chance. And the reason was simple: everybody knew the goblins would more likely follow Dumbledore than Voldemort when they had to choose sides.

"So you are a follower of the Dark Lord?" the goblin asked.

Adam shook his head.

"No," he answered sincerely. "I have too much family on the Light side – and I don't like his ideals."

One moment the room was silence.

Then the goblin grinned a devilish grin.

"Good," he said. "I will bring you my clan-leader. He will discuss with you what he wants you to do."

Adam blinked.

_Good?!_

_Clan-leader?!_

Adam knew that 'clan-leader' was the term for the goblin Head of House and also Lord of House. They were exclusive individuals, never seen in the halls of Gringotts. Adam also knew that clan-leaders were all very old. You could not become a clan-leader if you were not at least a hundred years of age.

"Your clan-leader, Master Goblin?" he finally asked.

"Yes, human," the goblin answered. "He was the one asking for one of you. Be not disrespectful to him, human. It will cost you greatly if you are."

Adam just nodded. Then he followed the goblin even deeper into the halls of Gringotts. The decoration got even more pronounced, speaking of wealth and power. The tapestries showing the battles and wars of the goblin nation. It was intimidating.

Finally they stopped. Adam blinked. They stood in front of a tapestry, not in front of one of the richly ornamented doors that he could see in the distance. The goblin simply pulled the tapestry of a very bloody battle aside – Adam guessed from what he remembered that it was a tapestry showing the Great Battle of the North Fields – and exposed a hidden door behind it. He opened the door.

"Step in and wait here," the goblin said. "The clan-leader will soon be there. Just remember: he is one of our most honoured leaders – step out of line and it will be the last thing you ever do." And with that the goblin left the room, leaving behind an astonished and slightly frightened barrister.

Adam gulped, then he tried to calm his nerves by taking the time to look at the room itself.

The furniture and the walls spoke of money. The furniture was old and hand-crafted; the walls carved marble and behind the still unoccupied desk hung a crest.

The crest showed a serpent winding itself around a lily. The crest itself was green, the serpent silver, and the lily white.

It was a simple crest, but Adam had never seen it before…

"Do you like my crest?" a warm, low voice suddenly asked. The voice was young, yet marred with a slightly foreign lilt to it, as if the speaker had half-forgotten how to speak English. It wasn't the accent of a foreigner but of a very old being who had lived through different stages of the English language.

Adam turned on his heel and stared at the person who had just entered the room.

The person closed the door.

The first thing Adam registered was that the person in front of him was human. The second that the human had come alone – the goblin had not come back even if normally no goblin would let a human wander alone in their halls.

"Where is your guide?!" Adam asked just to clap his mouth shut in the next moment. _This man could be his client! That was not an introduction he would like to make to a new client! Where, by Merlin and Morgana, had gone his Slytherin side, now that he needed it desperately?_

The man chuckled.

"I am a clan-leader," he answered warmly. "As I am part of the goblin-nation I don't need a guide."

"But… but you are human!" Adam wished he would stop channeling a Gryffindor and voice his thoughts with a filter…

"Not really," the man answered, scrutinizing him. "But I would be called a wizard today."

Adam just stared at him.

The man – a young man, more a boy then a man – had shoulder-length black hair; some part of it braided back with Slytherin-green ribbons like the lords of old had worn. The robes he wore were also cut in an older style. They were green with a black tunic and black trousers beneath. Black leather-boots and a silver belt, looking as if it was made of silver leaves added the final touch to his appearance.

Then Adam remembered the fact that clan-leaders had to be at least a hundred of age. The boy in front of him didn't look like it, but looks could be deceiving and the boy's accent spoke of times long past.

Finally Adam decided to drop into a belated bow, introducing himself.

"I am Magnus Adam Selwyn, barrister of Fawley&amp;Flint&amp;Selwyn. Forgive me if I offended you in any form, my Lord," he wasn't sure if the apology would be accepted, but it was the least he could do after his Gryffindor reaction just seconds ago.

The answer was a soft chuckle.

"You are forgiven, child," he said. "Unlike what most of my fellow clan-leaders think, I'm not interested in killing everyone who offends me."

Adam released a slow, relieved breath.

"Stand up, child, and then sit down," the clan-leader said and Adam did as he was told. The clan-leader made his way to his desk and leaned against it. That action brought him in close proximity to Adam who sat in front of the desk on a visitor's chair.

"If I may ask, who are you?" Adam finally asked, when the silence started to feel awkward.

The young looking man smiled and bowed slightly.

"Morganaadth, at your service" he said.

"Morganaadth?" Adam was not sure if the name was a first or a last name. The other smiled again.

"My goblin name," he answered smiling.

Adam blinked at that. He knew for a fact, that there shouldn't be any human looking clan-leaders – and definitely none that had a goblin name.

"My Lord, may I ask how –"

"How it is possible for me to exist if there isn't any records of me in the Ministry?" the other man asked with a raised eyebrow.

Adam inclined his head hesitatingly.

The answer was a soft smile.

"Circumstances," he said. "Let's just say that I predate the Ministry."

Adam's eyes widened at that. He knew for a fact, that the Ministry of Magic replaced the Wizards' Council in 1707, which meant that the human looking man in front of him had to be at least three hundred years old.

He gulped.

"May… may I ask with what I can assist you, my lord?" he finally managed to say. The clan-leader in front of him, looked at him amused – at least until Adam managed to ask his question.

"With several things, my dear Mr. Selwyn" the young looking lord answered. "I do plan to return to the place that is rightfully mine in the magical world, but there are some… obstacles I have to take care of before I make my first move."

The deathly green eyes of the clan-leader in front of him pierced him with a cold and determined stare. Adam felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

This boy-looking being was no-one you should cross…

"Can you explain further?" he finally asked the young looking Lord.

"Of course" Morganaadth inclined his head. Then he sat down behind the desk and took out a folder full of paper.

"You could say that, thanks to who I am, I have certain rights… to an important individual of the magical community."

"I… don't think I understand," Adam replied.

The man in front of him smiled. Then he pulled of the family ring he wore and turned it so that Adam could see the crest.

Adam's breathing hitched.

He knew that crest.

It was the Potter family crest.

Adam's eyes snapped up to look at the man in front of him.

"How –"

"Like I said, circumstances," the clan-leader replied. "Let's just say that I have always had the right to wear it."

"But… Harry Potter –"

"Is one of the reasons why you are here," the man replied. "Since you are a barrister, I don't think that I have to tell you what should have been done years ago when James and Lily Potter died."

Adam understood instantly.

Since the clan-leader in front of him had the lordship ring of the Potters, the heir of Potter should have been given to him for caretaking. The lord of the house always took precedence to everyone else. That it hadn't happened, could mean only one thing: Harry Potter had been placed illegally with whoever he was living with at the moment.

"The guardianship –" Adam started to say.

"Stolen by Albus Dumbledore," the clan-leader answered grimly. "Given, I was out of touch with the British magical world for about six years after 1979, but I should have been contacted when James and Lily Potter died and I should have had a say in where my… heir would live."

Adam could not fault the man his ire. He would have felt the same if it had been his heir who was kidnapped – and it had been a kidnapping, whatever the Ministry and Albus Dumbledore would say. Adam knew that the Lords of the Wizengamot would see it like that as well, if it ever was brought to their attention.

"Why did you wait that long to come to me?" Adam finally asked. "Even if you have not been in touch with the British magical world until Harry Potter was five, you should have –"

"There was a ward set up that prevented the asking of questions about where, and in what circumstances, the boy lived. The ward fell just a few days ago. Since then I have done everything I could to find out what happened to the heir of Potter."

Adam frowned at that. He knew of wards that could do things like that – but he also knew that those wards were illegal as long as the individual they were attached to didn't know of them. There was just the question of if the boy knew…

But that still didn't change the fact that the boy had been taken from his rightful guardian and then placed who-knows-where.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Adam asked.

Morganaadth took the folder on his desk and gave it to Adam.

"These are the withdrawing of Harry Potter's vault while he lived with his Muggle-relatives and while he was at school. In there are also the account statements that tell you what was done with the money that had been withdrawn," the young looking man handed over the file and Adam leafed through it.

"As you can see, Harry's parents financed part of the war against Voldemort. The money should have been stopped being used like this after their death, but it wasn't" Morganaadth said.

Adam frowned. The accounts clearly stated, that Albus Dumbledore had continued to use the Potter's money to help with the aftermath of the war. Instead of leaving the rest of the meager amount of money for the child's care and schooling, he had used the money and forgotten to think about the child that had to live from it.

The money the child's caretaker had been given had not even been enough to provide for the basic needs of the child. They had just been able to finance the young boy's schooling from it.

"As you can see, his misuse of Harry's money made him a burden for his caretakers. As far as I have found out so far, they resented him for it," the clan-leader declared. "The will of his parents clearly states that any and all money that is left after their death should solely be used for the caretaking of Harry and for his inheritance."

Adam opened the next page of the file which showed the will of the parents.

"I wish to press charges against Albus Dumbledore for neglecting the will of Lily and James Potter and stealing Harry Potter's money," Morganaadth said coolly. "I also wish to press charges for the kidnapping of an heir, neglecting said heir and misuse of power to 'legally' gain access to said heir."

"I understand," Adam answered.

"Finally, I also want to press charges against every one that used Harry Potter's name without my explicit permission," Morganaadth continued and handed him another folder. "In there are all the firms, authors and products that have the Potter's heir's name without asking me. I am not really interested in the money but I do not like it that they use Harry Potter's name without permission."

Adam took the folder also.

"I guess you will also press charges against the _Daily Prophet_," he said. The young lord smiled.

"Something like that," he answered and then continued to fill Adam in.

Now, about three months later, Adam met Morganaadth again in the depth of Gringotts. This time, the boy-looking man was already there when Adam was brought into the room.

Adam bowed; the clan-leader inclined his head, and then gestured to the seat in front of his desk.

Adam sat.

"I have some news for you, my lord," he told the Potter Lord instantly. "The _Daily Prophet_ is now operating under a new guideline."

"So we finally have had enough shareholders to overthrow the Ministry control?" Morganaadth asked.

Adam just snorted.

"More than enough," he said. "With the backing of the Longbottom and Flamel families and the Malfoys the Ministry had no chance to continue with its drivel. You already had twenty-two percent of the stockings under the names of Potter, Grim, Evans, Peverell and Emrys, with the backing of the five percent of Flamel, and the three Percent of Longbottom you would have had a draw with the ministry. Adding to the fact that now the Malfoys five percent and the Malfoire's twenty percent are backing you, the ministry has had no chance at all."

The answer was a satisfied smirk.

"So the _Daily Prophet_ with finally stop printing gossip," Morganaadth said satisfied. Adam inclined his head.

"I just wonder how you got the Malfoires and Malfoys to cooperate," he said. The answer was a smile.

"The Malfoires would have always cooperated," Morganaadth said. "Their shares just had to wait until I was able to purchase Grim, Evans, Peverell and Emrys."

Adam had the dawning impression that Morganaadth hadn't told him everything when he took the job. He sighed.

"You were a Slytherin when you went to Hogwarts, weren't you?" he asked exasperated.

The answer was a laugh.

"Actually, I was sorted into Gryffindor," Morganaadth replied and Adam groaned.

"Oliver Twist was right," he moaned. "There were Slytherins in Gryffindor all along…"

The answer was a laugh.

"Just protect my interest and I won't out-Slytherin your Slytherin mind," Morganaadth promised.

"And that comes from a Gryffindor," Adam retorted without heat; then he sobered up. "Fudge tried to intimidate _The Quibbler_. He threatened Xenophilius Lovegood with Azkaban if he didn't stop printing Twist and didn't tell him who Twist is."

The answer was a grim smile.

"It seems that Fudge prefers to work into my hands," Morganaadth said. "The moment he makes a move against _The Quibbler_, confront him and tell him we will sue him if he doesn't keep his nose out of a private business. James Potter, Xeno Lovegood and Salvatio Malfoire were the first and only shareholders of _The Quibbler._ The families didn't change, even if James Potter is dead now. I'm sure that Fudge won't like what hits him if he tries to cross those families."

Adam's eyebrow shot up when he heard that.

He had known of the Potter and Lovegood holdings of _The Quibbler_ – but he hadn't been able to find out the third.

"Malfoire?" he asked.

The answer was a predatory smile.

"My name," was Morganaadth's reply and Adam shivered. He didn't envy Fudge who had managed to enrage that individual in front of him.

Morganaadth's eyes said it all.

You do not cross Morganaadth – and if Morganaadth's original name was Salvatio Malfoire, than you would do your damn best to stay away from him as well.

Fudge would not know what hit him when Morganaadth was finally ready to strike.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The room Severus Snape was brought to by the goblin was simple. There were some leather chairs and a desk out of dark wood. The room had no windows and the walls were covered by the same dark wood the desk was made of.

The floor was made of stone and candles were the only light in the room.

He shuddered. He still couldn't believe that he had taken the chance and activated the letter that had been send to him by the unknown head of house – or at least at that time unknown head of house.

The room was darkly lit and a young man was waiting for him. Said man leaned against the desk, his arms crossed, clearly waiting for him.

When Severus landed with his portkey, there had been an odd silence in the room – somehow disconcerting.

Severus had spent all day until then stalking the halls and making Gryffindor miserable. He had taken far more points from Gryffindor than they had lost over the last two month from all the teachers combined – just to come here and stare into a face that, for a moment, looked like Potter's.

Then reality set in and he could see the differences that he hadn't seen a second before. The stranger in front of him didn't have glasses and his face was far more regal than Potter's could ever be. Severus would have guessed they were the same age, but Potter's eyes – like those of every student Severus had ever taught – looked innocent and young. The eyes that now looked back at him were ancient. But they had the same colour, Severus noted.

For a moment Severus hesitated; then he bowed slowly. He had never been truly taught how to behave in the situation he was now, but he at least knew the basics thanks to his seven years in Slytherin.

"My Lord," he greeted, while hoping that this man wasn't as sadistic as the Dark Lord. Severus' back and limbs still ached from his visit yesterday morning – the morning after the failed raid at Azkaban. He had been there for the meeting and had taken the brute of the Dark Lord's ire – just because he hadn't been there for the raid.

Cool, green eyes assessed him.

"Take a seat. You are trembling," was the cool reply.

Severus felt himself stiffen when he heard that assessment.

_How?_

_He knew for a fact that he had learned to fool even Dumbledore, so how?_

"You are my heir, as long as you have neither accepted nor declined your position in my house, but are in my territory, I maintain the ability as your lord to measure your health by the feeling your proximity gives me. I can basically taste how you feel," the last sentence was spoken sardonically. "Not that I need it."

Severus shivered at that – it was disconcerting that the man seemed to be able to know even what he was thinking.

"A simple 'legilimens'," the man said. "Your shields are good, very good – but not good enough for me."

The next thing Severus knew, he had drawn his wand on the stranger. Before he could utter a word, the wand flew from his hands to the hands of his opponent.

"Good reflexes," the man commented. "I was not as quick as you at your age." Then the man tilted his head in thought. "But then, I didn't have a wand to draw at your age, so maybe I was and simply don't know it."

"Who… who are you?" Severus stared at the man, totally confused. The man looked like a boy, but treated Severus like a child. Severus could see the power of the man in those things he had told Severus but at the same time, the man hadn't made any move that would threaten him in any way – well, he had taken Severus' wand…

That was the second his wand was returned to him with a snorted "catch!"

Severus caught his wand and stared at the Potter look-alike – and at the same time not look-alike – in further confusion.

"Sit before you fall," the man commented and pointed at the seat in front of the desk he was leaning against.

Severus sat.

"I'm not sure if you have had any formal training in your youth, so, let's start with this question, before I answer yours. Were you taught how to act in a meeting to potentially enter a Grand Family?"

Severus sneered.

"No, I wasn't," he finally answered sincerely. Since the other one had told him that he could read Severus' thoughts and Severus' frantic search for a hole in his shields had not yet turned up anything, Severus figured that the man would know anyway, if he lied.

The man just nodded.

"Then I will treat this meeting a little bit more informal," he said. "I am Salvazsahar. Since I'm here to ask you if you are interested in entering my Grand Family, I fear I am traditionally not allowed to tell you my last name – after all you have to decide if you can accept my orders, and not if the family name is interesting enough for you to say 'yes' anyway."

"Shouldn't you be disguised if you want your identity kept hidden?" Severus returned with a sneer. The answer was a laugh.

"If I was known in the political area, I would be. Since I am not – why should I? You won't be able to speak of me anyway when you leave this room, no matter if you accept or decline," was the answer.

Severus' lips thinned again.

"And how will you keep me from telling about –"

"There's a curse on the portkey that brought you," Salvazsahar said. "It's basically are runic 'tongue-tie-curse' or 'obliviate' – based on your decision in here. If you decline, you will forget that you have ever been invited."

Severus was impressed. He had never heard of such a spell but the cool, sincere eyes of his opponent told him that he wasn't being lied to.

"I have no interest in serving a third master," Severus finally said.

The answer was a shrug.

"I wouldn't be your master," Salvazsahar said. "I would be your Head of House."

"I don't see a difference," Severus countered.

The answer was a laugh.

"Unlike those masters you are talking about, I would be responsible for your wellbeing. I can't hurt you – not that I wanted. I might be able to order you, but I will also shield you if you need shielding, aid you if you need aiding and heal you if you need healing."

Severus just scoffed at that tiredly.

He had heard too many empty promises in his life to simply believe this man in front of him.

"I am already doing everything I can for the war. I am not willing to submit to a Potter look-alike to do even more," he finally forced out. "Look for your spy elsewhere!"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord, raided Azkaban on Hallowe'en night – the night between the day before yesterday and yesterday, to be precisely. The raid didn't go as planned. Instead of returning from Azkaban with his most faithful Death Eaters and a contract with the dementor-coven, he only returned with his faithful – some of them in an even worse condition than they had been while being imprisoned in Azkaban," Severus could just stare at Salvazsahar. Said man shrugged. "You were punished yesterday morning after you were called. Riddle used his ire for his failed mission on you. His army isn't as big now as he hoped for – that doesn't mean that he gave up on the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries – well, do you truly think I need a spy in Riddle's ranks?"

Severus guessed that the other man truly didn't need a spy if he knew all that already.

"That doesn't mean you don't want me to spy on the Headmaster," Severus countered.

"Albus Dumbledore is concerned about Harry Potter. The boy doesn't act like Dumbledore thinks he should and he asked Mad-Eye Moody to look into it. There's also the shifts he is delegating the order members to do in the Department of Mysteries – absolutely barmy, that one. As long as Riddle doesn't enter the Ministry himself or Harry Potter isn't tricked into going there, there is no one who can take that prophecy from the shelf. He's also trying to recruit new members for his Order – do you need anything else?"

Severus stared at the man in front of him.

"If you know that all that – if you can get all that information without me – why do you want me to join your family?" Severus finally asked hesitatingly.

The answer was a shrug.

"You're a child of my adopted son's blood – which makes you my child. Even if I despised you with all my heart, I still would ask you if you want to be a part of my family. I still would protect you," Salvazsahar answered shrugging. "It's the least I can do."

Severus frowned, but the other one wasn't done yet.

"This isn't servitude, Severus," he said. "A Grand Family is for protection. Of course, it is your choice. Just consider how it will end for you now when the war finally ends. You will be either dead or imprisoned for life."

"I don't think that the Headmaster –" Severus started to object but the other one overruled him.

"If you aren't killed by either side for either betrayal or because you aren't useful anymore and if you survive the battles you will have to fight for either side, the Headmaster would keep you at Hogwarts even after the war. He might have influence, but he is old and his influence is dwindling. He might be able to rescue you from Azkaban but it will be likely that you would be stuck for the rest of your life as a teacher. After all, the Wizengamot will be more easily persuaded in letting you go if you are still somewhere you are monitored. And the Headmaster wouldn't let you go without a fight because it is nearly impossible to get at potions master with your salary to work in a school. Is that truly what you want?"

Severus grimaced.

"And if the Headmaster dies, there's a huge chance that you will end up in Azkaban, after all there is no one who trusts you now and it's the Headmaster who kept you out of it the first time around. Without his help there won't be a lot of people inclined to help you."

Severus imagined Potter as the winner of the war and the one who would be revered by the other wizards and witches after it. Severus would have no chance. He would be in prison before he could even utter the word 'spy' – after all, everyone knew that Harry Potter hated him with passion.

Severus grimaced again. He had never seen his future as clearly as he had done just now. It wasn't a pleasant future. Death seemed the best ending he could imagine – and that was definitely a depressing thought.

"Like I said, it is your decision," Salvazsahar said softly.

Severus glared.

"And if I join you – what will be expected of me?" he finally asked.

The answer was a smile. "There are a few rules I would like you to follow if you join – other than that, there's nothing more expected. I don't care what you do for a living, who you believe in or who you want to marry."

At that Severus grimaced. "I don't plan on marrying, ever," he confessed, knowing that the other would have read it in his thoughts either way.

"Like I said, that's your decision."

"And what rules will I have to follow if I join?" Severus asked, sure that he would now find out the trap behind the offer.

"Unity of the Grand Family in public. You may hate each other all you like when you're in private, but as long as you are in public you stand behind family." The straight forward answer definitely baffled him. "I also would expect you submit to a health test. You will be tested for potions or spells."

_Reasonable. Surprisingly reasonable._

"Another non-negotiable rule for the others that still can't do it, would be to learn to occlude their mind. Since you already can do it, I won't insist on it this time – but if you want to I can teach you how to strengthen your shields."

Severus nodded at that. It was reasonable. Occlumency after all helped against possession, compulsion charms or imperius.

"And lastly, the family comes first. I don't care what you believe. I don't care if you're light or dark. But I care if you decide to follow another man like little ducklings, unable to think for yourselves. If you join my family, your loyalty will be to your family. You might admire someone else – someone like Albus Dumbledore or whoever – but you won't follow them blindly. The family comes first. Work with them, admire them for all I care, but you will always think what your actions will do to the family name," Salvazsahar said.

"What about –" Severus stopped there but his hand automatically cradled his left arm. The boyish looking man's eyes darkened.

"I will remove it," he said. "If you want to continue spying for now, I won't stop you. I can place that… _thing…_ on a bracelet for now so that you can still be summoned with it and I can teach you an illusion Riddle wouldn't even think about searching for so that it looks as if that… _thing…_ is still there. But if you join, it's gone. I don't mind the dark as long as you don't endanger life. Life is precious. But in my eyes, Tom Riddle is at fault for the murder of some of our family members. I can't condone that."

Severus frowned at that.

"Family members?" he asked hesitatingly.

"Gideon and Fabian Prewett," the other man elaborated. "Alice and Frank Longbottom. Lily –"

At that Severus' eyes sharpened.

"Lily?" he repeated. "As in Lily _Evans_?!"

The answer was a laugh from Salvazsahar. "Lily LeFay," he corrected Severus and Severus felt himself deflate a little, at least until Salvazsahar added. "Evans might have been her official last name in the mundane world but she has always been a _LeFey _by blood."

"You're telling me Lily and I were related?" Severus asked sharply.

The answer was a shrug. "Very distantly you were, yes. But then, it would have been near enough that I would have invited her into the family anyway."

"What about her boy?" Severus had wanted to stop that question but he couldn't even if he wanted. Of course, he despised the boy – but on the other hand the boy's safety was his only goal in life right now. He wanted the child to live for Lily. No, he _needed_ the child to live for Lily.

"I can neither deny nor confirm those who haven't already joined this alliance," Salvazsahar finally answered. "Now, Severus Tobias Snape, will you join this Grand Family?"

And Severus knew that his time asking questions was up. He hesitated just for a second.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Lucius Malfoy was shivering when he finally entered Gringotts via port key. His limbs were week and he wasn't in the pristine condition he had hoped to arrive, but the Dark Lord had interrupted him shortly before he could leave and Lucius had again felt the man's ire. The man had not been amused about the newest article in _'The Quibbler'._

"Why, Lucius, didn't you stop this article?" the insane man had wanted to know. "After the last one you should have understood that this brat can't be allowed to continue with this drivel! He'll destroy everything we worked for if he continues!"

The Crucios afterwards hadn't convinced Lucius to do as the Dark Lord pleased, but had instead cemented his decision.

So Lucius had port-keyed to Gringotts.

In the dark room he landed in, another man had been waiting for him already. Said man was young with dark hair and… oddly familiar.

"I'm surprised that you came, Lucius," the man said. "After last time and your unwillingness to even cooperate with me as your head of house I had guessed you wouldn't accept the invite today."

Lucius' eyes widened.

"My Lord!" he said and then bowed stiffly, suppressing a hiss of pain while doing so.

"Sit down before you fall down, Lucius," Salvazsahar replied and gestured to the chair in front of the desk he was leaning on. Sharp eyes ghosted over Lucius' pale features. "It seems Riddle has decided to dish out the Cruciatus like Dumbledore dishes out candy."

Lucius grimaced at that comparison.

"I'm not quite sure what to think considering you just compared the darkest wizard of today's times with our… lightest," he finally settled on saying. "I think that comparison might be a little bit… extreme, My Lord."

The answer was a careful shrug.

"Nevertheless true, Lucius," he said. And that told Lucius a lot about the Grand Family he had been offered to enter. No Dumbledore, no Dark Lord.

It sounded oddly… pleasant.

Lucius settled into the chair in front of the desk.

"I'm listening, My Lord," he said stiffly while following the protocol that existed for occasions like that. The answer was a smirk and then the other began to talk. There was no flowery speech like the Dark Lord had used when he had convinced Lucius to join him, there were no threats. The Lord in front of him just stated the bare facts. The rules and conditions for the Grand Family.

Somehow Lucius appreciated that. He was far too hurt and tired to play a political game right now.

True, the man in front of him was no Dark Lord with enigmatic aura. He was also no Dumbledore with power oozing from every pore. The man in front of him was something else instead: he was truthful to Lucius, genuine – and Lucius suddenly found himself appreciating this character trait more than he would have thought.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry was slowly making his way back to the common room, when he suddenly was shoved into an empty, dusty classroom to his left. He was thrown against one of the walls and held there by the throat. Harry flinched violently. His whole body was still in agony from the nearly deadly ritual he had done yesterday night and even if he was good at hiding it, he couldn't hide it fully.

A wand was pressed against his throat.

"Who are you?" a voice growled.

Harry knew that voice. Moody.

The old Auror finally had found a hint that he wasn't who he seemed to be…

Nothing surprising there, Harry had just waited until the paranoid man would catch on. There had been no way of hiding the differences from the man after he had been set onto Harry by the headmaster. There was just one way to maybe get out of this mess with his skin intact. It was a bit risky, considering his state of health, but it also was the only way.

Harry stopped moving so that the Auror would not think about using a curse against him when he answered the question.

"You should use Veritasserum on me," he suggested. "Four drops – just to make sure."

Moody scrutinized his victim.

He had watched the boy for a long time. Of course he had not known the boy before but he still could see that something was off. The boy was nothing like Albus Dumbledore had described him. When Albus had talked about the boy it had sounded like a rebellious teen but the boy Moody met wasn't a rebellious teen at all. He might act like one and fool the others to think he was – but behind the façade was a cunning mind.

"You do not sound very worried, impostor" Moody grunted.

"I am not," the boy said, shrugging. "While my secrets do not hurt me – they just might hurt you."

Moody looked at the boy with searching eyes.

"And where do you think I will get Veritasserum from?" he asked finally.

"I have some" the boy answered. "It is sufficient, I believe."

Moody just snorted.

"As if you would give me real Veritasserum."

"You are an Auror. You know the effects of it and you have seen it often enough to tell if someone is faking its effects, I believe," the boy answered.

Moody just snorted.

"And of course you want me to release you so that you can get it out."

"My wand-holsters are on both of my wrists" the boy answered him sincerely. "I do have some weapon-holsters on my belt. Just take them."

Moody blinked. Normally he had to persuade his victims to tell him where their weapons were…

He slowly reached for the boy's wrists and discovered the holsters. He took them. Four holsters, four wands. After that he reached for the belt and just took it away together with the weapons on it. On the belt there were also a lot of vials. Moody recognized the most of them as healing potions. One of them also was the truth-serum.

When he had the weapons he searched the boy for other, hidden weapons. He found nothing.

So he finally stepped back, his wand lowered a little bit. While he watched the boy with his magical eye he looked through the potions the boy had carried.

On the stopper of the vials were the initials of the potion master engraved. Moody knew all initials of legitimized potion masters by heart. He had learned them for his work.

On the stoppers were engraved the golden initials 'SEL'. This surprised Moody. He knew the engraving. It was an old one and no-one knew when the potion master had done his mastery. There had never been a date of death and so the engraving had continued. Sometimes there were people who had a vial from the mysterious potion master but he had never seen a potion's equipment solely engraved with these initials. And there was no way these initials could be falsified. There was a curse on them that enabled just the potion master they belonged to, to use them. Moody checked the potions and found them all sealed – so they were the real deal.

Moody took the Veritasserum and broke the seal with a little bit of regret. The potions of 'SEL' were some of the best on the market – and they were rare. It nearly felt like destroying something holy to break one of their seals…

"Well, open up, lad," he said to the boy who had not moved at all. The boy sat down on the floor and did as he was told. Moody did not fault the boy for sitting down. Veritasserum did disable your ability to stay on your feet and Moody also hadn't missed the slight flinch of the boy when he was pressed against the wall. The boy was hurt – Moody had no idea how it happened, but it was nevertheless true.

"Either he has a high pain tolerance, is trained in Occlumency, or isn't hurt too badly," Moody guessed while he dropped four drops in the open mouth of the boy. He assumed the last.

The Veritasserum hit the boys tongue. It took just seconds then the boy's eyes glassed over.

_Definitely the best Veritasserum you could get on the market._

"State your name," Moody said.

Harry felt the potion compelling him to tell the truth but it didn't compel him to say a specific name. It seemed that 'Salvatio Malfoire' was as true for the truth serum as 'Salvazsahar Emrys', 'Salazar Slytherin' or 'Harry Potter'. Well, Moody already knew Harry's name. There would be no way he would get another without a little work! But then, the auror deserved a little headache for the way he had handled Harry…

"Harryjames Salvatio Amethyst Potter," Harry said, even while drugged spitting the third name he mentioned. The moment he was rid of Dumbledore and Voldemort he would rip Sirius Black apart for giving him a girl's name at birth! Had that mangy mutt been drunk while naming him?!

But then, Harry had the feeling he knew exactly where that name had come from…

Moody meanwhile blinked.

That wasn't the answer he had expected to get.

_'Harry James Potter'_ had been one option.

Every other name in history another – at least as long as there was no '_Potter_' or '_Harry'_ to find in it anywhere.

He sighed.

"How old are you?" he finally asked.

"Fifteen," the answer was instant. A real fifteen-year-old portraying another fifteen-year-old?! Normally fifteen-year-olds were far too prone to mess things up and the plan – and the ward had been far too complicated for a mere fifteen-year-old! His opponent must be lying! Moody picked up the bottle of Veritasserum and read the label.

_No, still truth serum._

He sighed and decided a different approach: "When were you born?"

"31st of July, 1980," the boy answered again without hesitation.

Moody again looked at the bottle.

_Still Veritasserum…_

…

…

_Did that mean that boy was __**Potter**__?!_

"Are you Harry Potter?" he asked again.

_This boy couldn't be –_

"No," the boy answered and Moody huffed. It seemed that he finally got somewhere!

"Where is Harry Potter?" Moody asked.

This time there was no answer. The boy just blinked, a sign that the question couldn't be answered by the other. Moody frowned. It had been a straight forward question so why couldn't the impostor with the frightening similar name answer?!

So he had to take another way to find out what the impostor was hiding.

"What are your plans?"

"Going to Gryffindor tower and after that to dinner," that wasn't the answer Moody had been waiting for. It seemed as if he had been too unspecific. Answers like that always happened if the questions were too open.

He frowned inwardly and then asked again: "What are your plans for the future?"

_That should be better…_

"Finding my book about Hogwarts. Searching objects. Working. Travelling. Staying away from thron -"

"Stop!" Moody blinked at that but dismissed the answers he had gotten. They weren't useful at all! He needed to know about the current plans for the school!

"What are your current plans concerning school?"

"Finishing my OWLs" – not exactly the answer Moody had been hoping for…

He groaned.

"Do you give answers like that deliberately?" he asked frustrated.

"Yes," Harry answered, still drugged. "I don't give anything away for free."

"I noticed," Moody growled, then he returned to his first approach. "Tell me everything you know about what happened with Harry Potter."

This time the answer would turn his world around.

"He was created on Hallowe'en 1981 by Albus Dumbledore and died the next morning. He was recreated in August 1985 by Petunia Dursley for school. He died on the 2nd of August this year," the boy in front of Moody answered. It was then that Moody's world came crashing down. He knew what that answer meant, he himself had given something similar to it when he had been asked under the influence of Veritasserum about 'Mad-Eye Moody'.

Albus Dumbledore had done more than hiding away the child. He had tried – even if Moody was sure that it wasn't deliberately – to change the child's name. There was just one thing that Moody had to ask to confirm his suspicion.

"You found out your true name this summer."

For a second there was silence, then the boy answered. "Yes," he said.

"Albus Dumbledore didn't tell you it," Moody guessed.

"Yes."

"Is that the reason why you are different from what Albus described?" Moody asked.

This time, surprisingly a small smile started to grace the youth face.

"Partly," the boy said.

"What is the other reason?"

"I am no weapon," the boy answered instantly and his eyes were oddly clear for Veritasserum. "He has done nothing but meddle his whole life without ever thinking about the consequences of his actions. It's time that someone stops him before he destroys us all."

"It's thanks to Albus Dumbledore that a lot of people were rescued!"

"And yet it is thanks to him that the war happened in the first place," the boy answered. "I'm not naïve. I saw him working on taking down a Dark Lord. If we continue down his path, there would be thousands and thousands of dead on our side."

Moody's eyes widened when the boy suddenly stood up. The child's body was trembling but the boy had ful control over it otherwise.

"I give you the same data I gave Severus Snape. Albus Dumbledore knew Grindelwald since he was seventeen and knew what that mad man planned – yet the first time he acted was when he was sixty. I don't blame him for not fighting. I blame him for keeping his silence. Albus Dumbledore also _'knew_' about Tom Riddle when that boy was still in school – yet he simply watched again. Do you see a pattern? Think about it."

With that the boy coughed and turned away from Moody. He still wasn't fast enough for Moody not to see the blood on the child's lips.

Moody's eyes narrowed.

"What happened to you, Potter?" he asked.

The boy turned half-way back from putting back on his holsters and belt and smiled a faint smile.

"Just a minor hurt considering what I endured while attending Hogwarts from year one to four," he answered. "Definitely less deadly than basilisk-venom cursing through my body."

Moody growled.

"That's not an answer, Potter," Moody said. The boy shrugged.

"It's part of the price I paid to destroy Riddle," he answered. "The odds are well that I won't die from – for now at least."

An odd feeling of concern followed that statement and for a moment, Moody wasn't sure what to reply.

"You… you shouldn't even joke about your death, lad," he finally declared.

The answer was a smile full of bloody teeth. "Why not? At least like that I would die to my terms and not at the biding of… our… most beloved… headmaster." The last words he said slowly, as if he was considering each carefully. "I have an odd feeling that that's one of the things the Headmaster definitely planned for me, but if you don't believe me – ask the Headmaster himself. Ask him who his little weapon is going to be. Ask him if he truly raised me as a pig for slaughter."

Then he bowed.

"I'm on my way now, Lord Moody," he said. "Have a nice day." And with that he left the classroom.

Moody's eyes followed him while Moody's mind repeated everything Albus Dumbledore had ever said about Harry Potter.

The lad was right. Albus had long since planned Potter's course of action. Albus himself had called the child 'weapon'. Albus always insisted that Harry would be the one to finish off the Dark Lord.

Moody felt sickened to the core.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Hermione had struggled with her apology – not, because she couldn't see Harry's point of view, but because she felt guilty for acting the way she did in the first place. Harry always had been her best friend – losing him because of her own actions had been hard, but she had experienced it before. Being admonished by him before he stopped talking to her had been new and his words had definitely driven home his point.

So she stopped next to Harry at the table in the common room the evening two days after Hallowe'en. She knew that Harry had just come back from who-knew-where but this time around she wouldn't pry.

"Harry," she said tentatively. "I… I wanted to talk to you. Do… do you have some time for me?"

The answer was a sigh, then Harry sat down his quill and looked up.

"Have a seat, please," he said and Hermione sat, still fidgeting.

"I… I'm sorry!" she blurted out. "Truly, Harry, I'm so sorry! I should have talked to you! You were right! And I –"

"Just tell me: Why did you do it?" Harry interrupted her coolly and Hermione slumped.

"I…" Hermione stopped and huffed frustrated. "It seemed the right thing to do at that time!" she finally explained. "You didn't behave like you did normally and I feared that something had happened and well… Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards of our time –"

"That doesn't explain why you went behind my back and talked to him," Harry commented and he was right. It explained nothing.

"Well… I… he…" Hermione snapped her mouth shut. Then she sighed. "I was sure you wouldn't listen – like you didn't listen when I expressed my concern about the Firebolt."

Harry tilted his head.

"You never tried to explain that to me either," he said and leaned back in his chair. Hermione saw him wince when he did so and her eyes narrowed, then her focus snapped back to the discussion.

"You wouldn't have listened. You just saw the Firebolt," she said. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"So you think I, who was forced to endure death threats because of people not listening to me since I was eleven, wouldn't have believed you if you told me my life was at stake?" he snorted amused. "Hermione, do you truly think I crave the danger I was in every year?"

Hermione blushed, embarrassed.

"No," she said. After that silence reigned between them.

"I'm sorry," she finally repeated and Harry inclined his head.

"I forgive you, " he finally said. "But I won't forget. If you ever dare to do something like that again, don't expect me to be so lenient again."

Hermione hesitated, then she nodded.

"Thank you," she said before hesitating again. "What… what happened to you?"

Harry just raised an eyebrow.

"I'm quite sure that you have lost the right to pry the moment you went to the headmaster to tattle on me." He answered and returned to his homework.

Hermione pressed her lips together but finally nodded.

"Sorry," she said again. "Er… may I join you?"

Harry shrugged, wincing at the gesture.

"Do as you please," he answered and Hermione pulled out her own homework.

She still watched her best friend while she worked. He was moving stiffly and it looked sometimes as if he was in pain, but his words had told her that he wouldn't answer her question – something that hurt and also concerned her greatly, but before she could do something else rash, Neville and Ron joined them at the table.

Both of the other boys pulled out their homework and started to work on it. It was them complaining about Umbridge and asking Harry about this or that in the defence curriculum they should have learned, that finally sparked her idea.

For a moment she still hesitated – she had been accepted back just now, after all – but then she plunged ahead anyway. "Harry, have you ever thought about teaching the other students defence? I mean, you are very good in it and with Voldemort back we need to practice as much as we can!"

Harry just raised an eyebrow. "And your suggestion is…?"

"We should form a defence club behind Umbridge's back!" she answered enthusiastically. "Let's ask the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and the rest of the Gryffindors we know and trust to join!" And maybe, so she thought, it would help Harry to overcome his trauma of Cedric's death and the dementors in the summer…

Harry frowned. "I've already a very full schedule, Hermione," he said.

"But this is important, Harry!" Hermione insisted. "We need to be able to defend us when Voldemort returns to the open and considering that the Ministry tries to stifle our knowledge someone else will have to teach us – and you can do it, I am sure!"

Harry sighed and leaned back again with a wince. Hermione saw Neville's eyes narrow at that, but the other boy said nothing.

"Please, Harry, at least consider it!" she pleaded.

"It would be a good idea," Ron murmured at that moment. "I would definitely feel safer if I knew that I know how to defend myself."

Neville nodded.

"I mean, we're trying to learn what we should have learned by ourselves but it would be a lot easier if there was a group to learn with."

At that, Harry sighed again.

"Alright," he said. "I will consider it."

And Hermione smiled, not knowing that she had played into Harry's hands by her suggestion. It wasn't what he had originally planned, but it would work better this way.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. Sorry that it took so long. Still busy as hell._

_'Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	41. Chapter 40: 1385AD Breaking apart

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Beta-ed by C'mon. Thanks for your hard work. xD_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 1385 AD**

**Breaking apart**

sss

The door opened.

"Who are you?"

The man who had been spoken to, started. He had been concentrating on the thing in his arms and nearly had forgotten that he had knocked on the door in front of him.

"Who I am isn't important," the man said while looking up to meet startling green eyes with his warm brown ones. "It is why I am here, that is the important part."

The other man's eyes narrowed, but he complied nevertheless with the silent demand.

"Then why are you here?" he asked.

"I'm here because I know you can help me," the first man answered. "I heard that you have been looking for something discretely for some years now…"

The other man's eyes widened and his eyes snapped to the thing in the stranger's arms. Then his expression closed off.

"I'm not sure if you know –"

"I know exactly what you're looking for," the first man intercepted.

"So… what's the catch?"

"Hopefully," the first man said, his expression darkening. "There is no catch."

He had risked too much to lose now, after all – his sanity, but more importantly the sanity of the one person he still considered something akin to a brother, even after all those years apart…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

There is always a limit for every person. If that limit is overstepped, the person will break. No one in the entire world can bear everything thrown at them without being broken by one thing or the other.

The moment Sal destroyed the Horcrux of his brother, Sal reached his limit. And when the statue of his brother, far away in Hogwarts shattered and his ashes added to the wind, Sal's soul shattered as well.

_He had killed his brother._

A child's laughter filling his head, originating in one of his memories.

_He had __**killed**__ his brother._

A child's eyes, filled with love, looking at him from a moment long ago lost in time.

_He had __**KILLED **__his brother._

A single tear escaped his eyes. _How could he?!_ The answer came in the coldness of his own voice – a memory from a time long gone.

"_I had other responsibilities than watching him lead his life,"_ he had said. Other responsibilities. As if his brother had been nothing but a burden. Could he have stopped it? If he had listened… if he had stayed at his brother's side – could he have saved him?

"_You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother," _Antioch had said. _"I would never have gotten away with such a behaviour."_

"_You're just like father,"_ Medrawed had hissed. _"You do nothing but cast me away for others!"_

And his brother was right. Others had always come first. Strangers he had aided. His brother instead – he had killed.

"_**A healer cannot fight,"**_ a voice from another life-time ago told him softly. His own voice.

"_**And you want to fight?"**_

"_**No. I want to protect."**_

And protected he had, always and always. Everyone without exception. And yet, the greatest exception of all.

"I should have protected my brother," he whispered while staring at the shards of the Horcrux in his hands, blind to the snow storm that had started to rage in the wilderness of the French forest where he sat, unprotected, on the ground. "I should have protected my brother!"

Instead he had killed him.

"_You act as if you think this is easy for me to do!"_ Sal heard his own past voice exclaim. _"I once swore to protect the innocents! I never thought that this oath would mean that I once would be forced to go against my own little brother! I love you, Medrawed! If the circumstances would have been just the slightest bit different – if you just hadn't gone against everything I stand for – I would have chosen you! But as it is, I can't. Not with the knowledge of what you have done!"_

And he had turned away from his brother again – just for _**others. **_

_**Strangers. **_

"_You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother. I would never have gotten away with such a behaviour."_

"_**So you will protect those who cannot protect themselves from those who try to maim them?"**_

"_**I will"**_ – and then he had killed his brother.

Killed him, deliberately.

Killed him in cold blood.

"_You're just like father!_ _You do nothing but cast me away for others!"_

"_**And you will use all your skills to aid whomever needs help?"**_

He had sworn and he had kept his oath. Always and always. He had been a guardian to those who needed it – _a child's laughter in his head. _Guardian for all, but his brother.

He had been a healer –_ "So you prefer murdering him just to stop him." _A healer to all, but his brother.

A protector – _"There is no other way. Even if he would be one of us, even if he would be my own child – I would nevertheless say the same." _A protector to all, but his brother.

A saint in the eyes of many – and yet, he had killed his brother. His own baby brother. And his mind kept playing all those times he had interacted with the child he had killed today.

"_I had other responsibilities than watching him lead his life,"_ he had said instead. _Other responsibilities. _

"_You show remarkably little interest in the life of your brother. I would never have gotten away with such a behaviour."_

"_You're just like father! You do nothing but cast me away for others!"_

"_**Even if you will have to aid your enemy?"**_

Oh, how he wished, he would have had to aid his enemy! Anything would have been better than what he had done. But he had forsworn himself. He had forsworn evil – but not the darkness. But his brother? His brother!

"_I might love you, Medrawd, but the oath I took as a guardian forces me to work against you. I can't let you roam the world like you are just now. I am sorry."_

"_So you prefer murdering him just to stop him."_

"_There is no other way. Even if he would be one of us, even if he would be my own child – I would nevertheless say the same."_

As if his brother was nothing to him.

"_**Even if you must kill someone or let someone die to ensure the safety of others?"**_

He had said 'yes' to that as well – and he had damned himself with it.

_Even if you must kill someone_ – his brother's blood on his hands. His brother's soul destroyed. His brother's body nothing but ashes.

_To ensure the safety of others…_

How had he managed it? How had he managed to do as he had sworn when it had been his brother's life at stake? How had he been able to sacrifice his brother's life for something as shallow as _'the safety of others'_?!

_Antioch. Cadmus. Ignotus._

_Children – all three of them._

Antioch sailing through the air and landing on the ground with a sickening thunk. Another curse and Antioch started to scream in agony.

_A child's laughter filling his head, originating in one of his memories –__** even if you must kill someone…**_

A rune-based shield that rescued Cadmus and Ignotus from the deadly curses that were shot at them. In the end, Ignotus had lost a finger and was lying next to Cadmus, both of them unconsciousness.

_A child's eyes, filled with love, looking at him from a moment long ago lost in time_ – _**"Even if you must kill someone to ensure the safety of others?"**_

The icy steel of a short blade in his lung.

_Tainted, somehow unhealthy… perverted magic surrounding his brother._

_Maniac cackles._

_Not his brother. Not his brother!_

"_**Even if it will bring you harm?"**_

"_**Yes."**_ His voice had been so sure that time. So sure that he could bear it. But he had had no idea, what it meant to be harmed back then.

"_So you prefer murdering him just to stop him."_

"_There is no other way. Even if he would be one of us, even if he would be my own child – I would nevertheless say the same."_

And he had done it.

Mercilessly.

Stoneheartedly.

_He opened his eyes._

_Medrawed's dying scream filled the air, then he slowly but surely turned into stone._

Another tear slit down his pale cheek and his hands loosened on the tainted and shattered thing that was once the Horcrux of his brother.

"_I might love you, Medrawd, but the oath I took as a guardian forces me to work against you. I can't let you roam the world like you are just now. I am sorry."_

Merciless.

Stonehearted.

Unwilling to lift a finger to rescue his brother.

And with that the frail grasp Sal still had on his broken mind and magic slipped. Instantly white flames of magic burned the wood of the forest surrounding him. Fire hot with his self-loathing. Fire icy with his hate, directed at no one but himself. The snow of the storm melted under its pressure.

Healer.

Guardian.

Protector.

Nothing mattered.

There was just one thing he was. A murderer. _**His brother's**_ murderer.

And with that the flames surrounding him finally found their goal and burned him alive. At least he could judge himself now with the same magic that had just moments ago ended the life of his baby brother. Sal did not hope for mercy – he had not earned it in any way or form.

The agony of his burning flesh was the least he deserved.

"_**Then I bless you child. You are a Healer, you are a Warrior,**__ you__** are a Guardian. You have finished your apprenticeship and you have chosen your path. May you heal others, may you judge their hearts. May you guide others, may you protect them from harm. Today, I name you a Guardian Healer – born to protect, born to judge, born to heal. So mot it be."**_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Far away at Hogwarts, a vampire stumbled to his feet. He had been hiding in the farthest corner of the library, hoping that he would have some peace and quiet there.

Why, oh, why had he had to promise his overbearing great-grandparents to visit regularly when they met the last time around?!

He had planned to hide away in the library from them for at least the majority of the day.

But something had happened.

Something bad.

And so he stumbled to his feet and then hurried out of the library.

He had nearly reached the entrance door, when two arms slung around him and stopped his run.

"Don't," his great-grandfather's voice said, burdened with sorrow. "There is nothing we can do."

Anastasius grabbed his great-grandfather's hands to free himself, but the older males grip was like iron.

"Great-Grandfather – please!" And he could hear desperation and the same kind of sorrow in his voice that his great-grandfather's carried as well.

"There is nothing we can do, childe. Nothing!" Was the choked and sorrowful answer. And then he could feel his great-grandfather burying his head in Anastasius' neck.

That was the moment his great-grandmother reached the entrance hall.

Her face was pale and she was looking as human as his great-grandfather and himself at the moment.

Tear streaks adorned her cheeks and when she saw them, she came straight to them, her arms surrounding both of them without another word.

"Why?" this time there was a mourning tone in Anastasius' voice. "Why?!"

"Because we are all doomed to fall one day," his great-grandfather answered. "And today was your father's day."

Anastasius shook his head.

"He's immortal. He can't die! He can't –"

"There are other ways for us immortal to die but death," his great-grandmother whispered while drawing him closer. "And he has the blood of a basilisk. Our deaths are always the most gruesome."

"No!" this time Anastasius was able to shake of his great-grandfathers hands – but his great-grandmother still stood in his way, keeping him from hurrying to where his body told him his father once had been. "No!"

"I'm sorry, childe. I'm sorry!"

"No! He is a phoenix-born! A phoenix-born! He doesn't lose himself to insanity like the basilisk does! He is a phoenix-born!"

His great-grandmother just shook her head in sorrow.

"He has my gaze. He has my venom. He speaks my language," she said and her voice was filled with bitterness and regret. "The only thing he has of the phoenix are his tears. Phoenix-born he might be – but the basilisk is stronger in his blood."

"No!" Again, the hands of his great-grandfather embraced him. "Nooo!"

And then, like a wounded, devitalised animal, he fell to his knees while tears leaked from his eyes.

"No, please! I need him still! He can't be gone! He can't! He wouldn't leave me!" he pleaded. His great-grandfather had sunken to the knees as well, still hugging Anastasius desperately.

"He was over a thousand years old, already," his great-grandmother said softly while she crouched down in front of him. "And unlike your great-grandfather and I, he has no one who belonged just to him. He is alone."

"But… what about me?"

The answer was a bitter-sweet smile.

"You are an adult, Anastasius. You don't need him anymore. Your brother is long dead and your father's friends as well. A thousand years, child, are a long time – even for immortal like us," his great-grandmother said softly. "If it weren't for me, your great-grandfather might have given himself to the eternal flames already. If it wasn't for him, I would have long since gone insane. Even now, I can feel my sanity fading. One day I won't be able to hold on anymore and I will forget that I once was a sentient being. Dying would be preferable to wasting away as a creature who can't remember its life and loved ones anymore."

"But Padre…"

"Whatever happened, his will to continue on, broke. He is fading, now," his great-grandfather said.

Anastasius choked on his tears.

"Fading?"

"Not gone, as of yet," his great-grandfather answered. "But long since without our reach. Forgive me, childe, but there's no one here who can bring him back. The only one who will be able to stop him from fading, is himself. We're part of the immortal Firbolg. Part of our curse is to be never allowed to ask him to decide differently."

"I'm not," Anastasius said, again fighting against his great-grandparents grasp. "My people die after about eight hundred years. We're not part of you – so I can ask!"

"You drank his blood for the most of your childhood, childe," his great-grandmother said. "You might not be originally part of us immortals but there is a reason why a vampire normally isn't able to consume another Firbolg's blood – and why a young vampire nevertheless does. Vampire-children are unable to grow without the model the blood it consumes provides. You might not be one of us, but your body is modelled after your father's – and he has a natural life-span of about two thousand years. So you, in a way, still belong to us – and that takes your right of objection."

"I'm not immortal! I –"

"Your father isn't as well," his great-grandfather whispered. "But that still doesn't change the fact, that we can't force him to stay alive. It is his decision, and his alone. He choose to fade. Let him go. To force him to live on, broken as he is, would be far crueller."

And this time, Anastasius couldn't object. He knew that after some time, a Firbolg was set in his ways. If that Firbolg mentally broke, there was almost no way to fix him ever again.

Anastasius loved his father dearly – and that was something he didn't want his father to be forced to suffer for eternity.

So he simply broke down and cried in the end.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Somewhere else in Britain, another man looked up when the soil of Great Britain shuddered under the pain of its magical ruler. The man was a very old man. His hair was grey and his eyes darkened by the weight of his nearly seven hundred years on earth, and yet, there was still a chance for the man to live for another two or three hundred years.

"It's time," a voice whispered in his mind – a voice that he had heard since the day his father died. "You have my permission to reintroduce yourself."

Again, the soil shuddered at the pain of its magical ruler.

The old man closed his eyes when he was assaulted by the agony of a being he hadn't seen since he had been a young man himself. He knew what he should do, what he had to do. He knew of the other's suffering and the pain the other had endured for long before even he was born and he knew that it would be mercy to let the other die, and yet…

"It's still not your time, Salazar," he whispered, his own, tired eyes seeing the future clearly for the first and maybe the last time in his life. "It's still not your time…"

It was the pureblood, the grim, in his blood that told him. The grim was Death's servant. It always knew if it was time to die for somebody the old man had met or was tied to through bonds of family or friendship.

"Not yet, not for a very long time."

The old man stood.

"Grandfather?" a young boy asked, looking up at him startled. The boy had been playing with his father's cloak while the old man had watched him smiling before the world shifted.

"Your grandfather has to go away for some time, James," the old man said. "Be a good boy and tell your father that I have left, will you?"

"Yes, Grandfather," the boy answered. Of course, he wasn't truly the grandfather of the child. More likely his great-great-great-something grandfather. Somewhere on the way he had stopped to count and simply had insisted on being called 'grandfather'. It had been easier that way, especially considering that his children's and children's children's span of life had shortened until they barely lived for a hundred and fifty years. But that was the curse of a pureblood-born like him. They might not live as long as their own parents, but their span of life was far longer than that of the average mixed-born or mundane. Even his son, a pureblood-born himself, had died some two hundred years ago and his family had long since forgotten how old he himself truly was. This had been freedom and a curse at the same time.

"Don't wait for me, James," the old man said, ruffled the boy's hair and then stepped out of the house. He looked up into the sky, then he closed his eyes and reached for the inheritance he had gained through his parents.

The thunderbird in his blood cried.

The grim howled.

And he took their power and twisted it to fit his needs and like the grim – death omen that it was – his body dissolved into molecules. The wind that the thunderbird had summoned took them up and left with them, just to spit them out into the snow-storm in the middle of a forest in France.

The place that he had landed in, was burning hot with self-loathing and icy with hatred.

White flames were consuming not only the trees themselves but also the one who had called them in his agony.

"It's still not your time, Salvazsahar," the man said and green eyes snapped to his own. Their eyes met. Warm brown eyes met desperate killing-green.

"Peverell?" The other's voice was nothing but a whispered pleading for familiarity.

The old man smiled tiredly.

"Long time no see, Salazar," he said softly and then stepped into the flames. The flames withdrew from him, not willing to hurt him since their master was not willing to destroy another one of his loved ones any time soon.

"How?" Salvazsahar whispered. "You should be dead!"

"Not yet," the old man said dismissively. "If R'ena wouldn't have fallen ill, she would be still alive as well. We are pureblood-born after all – or Firbolg-born as you call it."

The answer was a shudder.

"If you're still alive then why –"

"Why did I never contact you?" the old man finished before answering the question as well. "Because I was an idiot and thought that you would suffer even more if you had to watch me growing old and die while you still never aged a day."

A lie, but those were the words that had been whispered to him by the wind.

The answer was a startled laugh, dry and filled with flames as it was.

"And I thought that I at least concealed that fact from you," Salvazsahar said while tears started to flow. The tears were burning with white flames and their ashes left his cheeks painted black.

It was then, that the old man – Peverell, husband of Helga – reached him and knelt down in front of him.

"I'm sorry for that, Salazar," the old man said tiredly. "I shouldn't have left you alone in your suffering."

And he shouldn't have – he should have done what he thought was right, not what he was told to do. But Peverell had known his place on earth since he was a toddler. He was an instrument – and he had always been willing to submit himself to the one who loosely held his lashes.

Salvazsahar just shook his head.

"There's nothing you could have done. There's nothing you_ can_ do. The deeds are done and I destroyed the one that was once as dear to me as my own son just because a foolish vow I once made, years ago," he answered and new tears slit down his cheeks. "I deserve to burn for eternity for what I have done."

"You're mortal. You're imperfect, Salvazsahar. I think you have forgotten that, even if you have lived for a longer time than even I, even if you have seen and done even more than I ever have or will do, in the end you still don't know everything. You will err on your way, you will choose the wrong path, you will hurt and be hurt, fail and be failed, and you will suffer for it. And maybe you're right and the decision you made right now was a mistake. But maybe you weren't and in the end it wasn't your fault that whatever happened, happened –"

Salvazsahar scoffed at that and the white flames started to burn with new found vengeance.

"It was my decision. It was my fault," he said.

"And I think your mind's far too broken to see things clearly. You're set in your ways, unable to change and unable to see that you're not an almighty god," Peverell said while smiling sadly. "And yet, staying alive with a shattered mind like you are now will just lead you onto the path of no return. You will fall from the edge into the darkness if I let you be –"

"I won't stay alive. I don't want to be alive anymore. Darkness can't claim me if I die," Salvazsahar hissed and the white flames surrounding them reacted to his ire.

"It's not your time," Peverell said. "Not yet, not for a long time. I won't let you suffer insanity for the rest of your life."

The answer was a bitter smile.

"So what will you do? Try to reason with me that I didn't kill my brother?" Salvazsahar held up the broken Horcrux. "Look at it, the last thing that kept my brother alive! It was I that destroyed it. It was my hands that have done the deed. Can you truly tell me with the evidence still in my hands, that I wasn't the one who killed my brother?"

Peverell looked down at the locket in Salvazsahar's hands.

Then Peverell's eyes searched for the deadly green of the man in front of him while he mentally reached out to touch the other man's mind. The barriers of the other ones mind were down, letting him in, showing him everything.

It was more, more than Peverell had ever expected to see. It was a life that had started with suffering and that had, even in the better parts, always held a note of suffering. And for the first time, Peverell wondered why the man in front of him hadn't broken centuries ago.

The answer was a bitter one.

Myrddin, Sal's father, had predicted it centuries ago.

"_You are not from this time. Even if you have been reborn here – you still should not exist here because there are no circumstances that would have led to your existence." _He had said. _"So your body might be in stasis until you return to your rightful time. That means you would be able to grow in mind, but not in body until then."_

And the man had been right – and wrong as well.

Peverell could see the truth in the broken man before him, a man who was now set in his way of life and at the same time still struggling with himself.

And it wasn't the obvious struggle with right and wrong that was problematic, but the true struggle of someone with centuries of experience and knowledge, forced to live with the chaotic, teenage brain of a barely fifteen year old. It didn't fit. A fifteen-year-old's brain was still nothing like an adult one's. Peverell knew. He might have never studied it, but then, he had been a teacher for a time and had lived longer than anyone he knew except of Salazar. He had seen the difference in thinking between an adult and a fifteen-year-old.

"_That means you would be able to grow in mind, but not in body until then."_ How right Myrddin Emrys had been. How wrong he had been as well. The man in front of him had definitely grown in mind, but with the brain of a child, even after centuries of living, he was still affected by its structure.

"A cursed life," Peverell concluded bitterly. "Cursed with the knowledge and experience of an old man while at the same time having the brain and body of a child. A child's desire but an adult's life since basically birth. The abilities of an adult but the unsteady magic of a child after its first maturity."

Oh, Peverell had to give it to Salvazsahar. The man in front of him knew exactly how to hide his disadvantages. Peverell guessed that Salvazsahar had learned to suppress or circumvent his teenage brain and magic by sheer will and necessity. The man in front of him definitely had matured at least in soul. But at the same time, unlike true children, the man had to fight his way into adulthood, simply because, unlike with other children, Sal's body and brain refused to age with his mind – a fact, that, so Peverell gathered, had not fully been overcome by the man in front of him.

"Well, one step forward, two steps back," Peverell mused drily, quite aware of the fact, that Sal's opinions on the world had been set for centuries now – even if it had taken longer to set them than it would have taken if Sal was normal. But Peverell was also aware that the man's brain was not structured for such a set path just yet – the only reason why there was still hope to rescue that broken man in front of him.

Peverell's hands surrounded Salvazsahar's and closed them around the locket in his hands.

"You haven't killed your brother," Peverell said. "It might seem like it for now, but the only thing you have given him in the end was the peace he never found in life. You might have acted wrongly it trying to do so, I won't be able to judge that, but in the end there was no salvation for him except of the one you provided."

Salvazsahar just shook his head and the flames surrounding them again started to lick at his features.

Peverell knew that he had no time to make Salvazsahar believe his claims, so he let it be.

Instead he did the only thing he could do.

He embraced the man in front of him while calling up his own heritage as a Firbolg-born. Powers, not used by him in centuries, flared and surrounded the body he held protectively in his arms. For a moment the magic of the other Firbolg-born fought his, while trying to stop him but unlike Sal's magic which – even if the other man had honed it far longer than Peverell – was still that of a child after its first maturity, Peverell commanded the magic of an adult. And even with the finely honed skills Salvazsahar had perfected over the centuries – skills that would gain him advantages in battle and healing that no other man had – Salvazsahar's magic had no chance to win in a fight solely based on strength, because even with Salvazsahar's ability to use the tiniest bit of his magic to do feasts that others thought impossible without powerful magic, his less mature magic lacked the strength of the magic of a mature Firbolg-born like Peverell.

Salvazsahar's magic faltered under the onslaught of his friend's and Peverell could see his magic surrounding the other man's, reining it in and forcing it to compel to its wishes. The white flames vanished and when Peverell looked down at the other man again, he could see betrayal in his eyes.

Peverell smiled.

"I'm sorry, Salvazsahar," he said while pronouncing the other one's name carefully. "But it isn't your time yet. You might hate me for it later on, rightfully so, but if you ever need me and I'm still around, come and find me. I betrayed you once, I won't do it again."

And with that he fought the other one's magic into submission.

If there had been an _oblivate_-spell, maybe Peverell would have used that instead, but since the spell wouldn't be around for another century or two, Peverell did something else. He returned into the still willingly open mind of the man in front of him and used the abilities given to him by birth. The storm of the thunderbird found entrance into the other man's mind and surrounded every knowledge, every experience the man in front of him once held. Peverell forced himself to continue until the recognition and awareness of those green, green eyes in front of him dimmed and finally vanished.

Peverell gritted his teeth at that.

It hurt.

It hurt to destroy the man he had held as dear as he had held Godric, his sister and his wife.

"One step forward," he whispered to himself while the grim in his blood took hold of the other man's now unguarded magic and used it to work his biding. "And two steps back."

When Peverell finally was done, he held a baby in his hands – a true baby, without any knowledge of its past or the future to come.

Peverell knew that it wouldn't be forever. He knew that his magic was only able to provide a breather for the baby that was once a man, but it was the best he could do. You couldn't heal the broken mind of a Firbolg – but Peverell had an advantage towards most of the Firbolg: his magic, the magic of the grim, had always been meant to interfere with life. Adding to that the ability of the Phoenix to be reborn that Peverell had borrowed from his victim and he guessed that there was at least a chance now to stop one of the men he held dear, a man he had hurt by trying to protect him, from fading until nothing was left but insanity.

Now he just needed to find someone who had nothing to do with Salvazsahar's past and who was willing to raise the child. Peverell knew that there was a high chance of Salvazsahar's memories being triggered if the man was surrounded by known faces.

He took the locket that Sal's tiny hands still clung to even in sleep and looked at it contemplating. In the end, he simply repaired it and then changed the pattern of the emerald's on it to resemble an 'S'.

He couldn't bear to throw something away that had caused all this suffering to the man that Peverell had known as head-strong and kind.

"Maybe it will give you something to hold on," he decided. "Maybe it'll be a good luck charm for this new chance at life."

And maybe Peverell would be able to find another family for the child in his arms – a family that would raise the boy to act differently than he did now. Peverell knew that his abilities would only be able to affect the other man's body and soul for the first fifteen years of his life – those years that the other man's body and brain had already matured once. It was the grim in his blood and the duty of one of Death's servants that gave him the ability to rewind the life of the man who was now the baby in his hands.

"Tell me, my Lord, does his suffering please you so much that you force me to prolong it?" he asked the wind while clasping the locket around the child's neck.

The answer was a laugh and a soft caress of his locks.

"Nay, Peverell, child," the wind whispered. "But it's not his time yet. He can't be claimed by Death until the circle is fulfilled."

And Peverell closed his eyes and refused to answer.

In front of his inner eye he saw his grandson James playing with the cloak of his father.

He saw his estranged, unacknowledged grandson who belonged to the Gaunt family, sitting in the Wizard's Council, waving his hand through the air – on his finger a ring with a black stone with gold engraving.

He saw the blood-shed of the wand that spread throughout the European Countries.

"The artefacts that destroyed his brother were my grandfather's and yet they came out of their encounter with him unaffected while the one who stopped the doom that follows them lies broken in my arms," he said bitterly. "I should have been there for him. I should have interfered with his brother and his greed for power."

"Grim," the wind said and Peverell stiffened. "His fate has long since been decided."

Like Peverell's had been, long since before his birth.

Like King Arthur Pendragon's had been.

Like even Medrawd's might have been.

Peverell inclined his head.

"He needs a family," he finally said. "Maybe…"

Oh, yes, maybe that family would do the trick…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"No catch?" the man on the door asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No catch," Peverell confirmed, shifting the child in his grasp. "A fifteen month old child, no family left, magical. That was what you were hoping for, wasn't it?"

The man on the door stiffened.

"Why would I need a child? I have seven of my own," he said.

Peverell smiled.

"But, as far as I could find out, your best friend doesn't. Since he refused to adopt one of your own children, you started to look for an orphan. Believe me, the one who send me was thorough in his investigation."

The other man shifted.

"What do you want for the child?" he finally asked coolly.

Peverell just smiled.

"A good home," he said. "As long as the child is well cared for neither I nor the one who send me will ask for anything else… except –"

And the man's eyes darkened at that.

"-except to be allowed to see the child again just before he reaches his fifteenth year of life. I want to explain to him why I choose to do what I did."

This time there was clear surprise seen in the eyes of the other man, then his expression darkened again.

"So you want him to know that he's adopted," he said coolly and Peverell smiled.

"He needs to know," he said. "I hid his heritage for the time being, but the moment he turns fifteen he will regain it – blood adoption or not."

The man blinked in surprise at that.

"A pureblood child?" he asked.

Peverell hesitated.

"Yes," he finally confirmed and the man leaned forward to get a better look at the child in front of him.

"Will he be able to use a wizard's magic?"

"There should be no problem," Peverell answered.

As an answer the man took the child and cradled it to his chest.

"I think his parents won't object to your conditions," he said. "Come on in. I will contact them."

And with that, the door behind them closed again.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for now. Sorry, I couldn't resist to end here. xD_

_**Anyway, I have a question:**__ Do you prefer a look into Sal's childhood when he has still no memories of his past or do you want me to skip it until he's regaining his memories?_

_Also: he won't gain any new abilities from this part of the story – just to stop the rumours from spreading. xD_

_To those who want complain that he's a child again I want to point out that a) this time he's an amnesiac, so he won't remember anything that happened to him. b) It's – at least in my opinion – far easier to get a family to agree to take in a child than an amnesiac man (not that he is truly a man as a fifteen-year-old boy) and tell them to treat it like family. c) I think the adoption in this part is necessary because even back then there might have been some people who couldn't have children and who would take in and adopt it as their own. And growing up differently will teach Sal a different kind of outlook in life that he hasn't even tried to pursue before because the influence of his first upbringing. _

_I also hope that some things got a little bit clearer concerning Sal, since there seemed to be some confusion about his age or why he isn't acting as mature as some of you think he should. I planned this damn chapter for ages but Peverell always refused to comply with my wishes. And then, when I planned to hide him for a few more chapters he's suddenly back in action and finally doing what he should have been doing long ago! Stupid Peverell… xD_

_Well, at least my plot is back on track now even if I'm not quite sure if I truly like how the chapter turned out in the end…_

_I hope you liked the (this time) short chapter anyway…_

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	42. Chapter 41: 1398 The Best Laid Plans

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Well, I counted the reviews and a lot were for at least some flashbacks, so I tried to include them in my story. I hope I did it well enough for now._

_Sorry that it took some time, but since I couldn't decide how to continue myself I waited a little to see a trend before starting to write this chapter._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 1398 AD**

**The Best Laid Plans**

sss

Even the best laid plans can go awry.

And there had been a lot of plans.

Fifteen years of freedom.

Fifteen years to raise a child.

Fifteen years to recover from guilt.

Fifteen years for a being to learn a new way of life.

But even the best laid plans could go awry – and whatever Peverell had planed, whatever the new parents and godparents of the child had planed, whatever would have been best for the child itself, in the end, it didn't happen.

Oh, Peverell gave up the child in his arms to a young and desperate couple. The husband of the couple had been the heir to a very important and influential French magical family. He and his wife had been unable to have children and in the end the husband's father had set an ultimatum: if they wouldn't have a child within the next two years, the marriage would be dissolved – something that the couple didn't want to happen because unlike others they had been happy enough to fall in love after marriage.

So they begged a friend to help them – and that friend was the one to be contacted by Peverell.

The child was adopted by the couple by blood-adoption to ensure that it truly was theirs before they returned to their home in France – and since they officially had stayed at a cousin's in Britain for the last year to escape the pressure of their parents and parents-in-law they simply could claim it as their own child, born by the wife herself.

The parents were happy.

The grandparents were happy.

The child had a family.

And Peverell had vanished from their lives to return to where he came from.

It should have been the end of their interactions for the next fifteen years – but it wasn't.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Excuse me; is this the home of Salvatio Malfoire?" The man at the door eyed the stranger warily. The stranger was a grown, emaciated man with pale skin, black hair and blood-shot eyes.

"Who wants to know that?" the man finally said. The man himself had red locks and unearthly green eyes in the colour of the killing curse that would be invented soon.

"I am Anastasius Sanguini," the stranger said. "I am a teacher at Hogwarts, the school that your son's going to."

The other man just raised an eyebrow at that.

"He's not my son," he said. "He's my nephew and godson. I'm truly surprised that there's a vampire teaching at Hogwarts."

The answer was a grin full of fangs.

"I know that it's not really common to see my species outside of a coven, but… well… you could say that I am… different," the vampire said. "Don't worry; I don't use the children as snacks or anything idiotic like that. The most rumours you've heard about vampires normally are vastly exaggerated."

"Are they, now," the man said while his cool green eyes evaluated the being in front of him. In that moment, another voice from within the house could be heard.

"Nicholas?" the female voice asked. "Who's at the door?"

The man didn't even turn to answer.

"A teacher of your son's school, Cathérine," he said. "Did you know that Salvatio's school has vampires as teachers?"

The answer was a snort, then a short female with light blond hair and forest green eyes stepped next to the man.

When she saw Anastasius, she smiled.

"I guess you are Professor Sanguini?" she said. "My son has been talking about your class for some time now. I think he adores you."

The vampire sighed at that.

"I… well, I thought that as well, Madame Malfoire," he said. "But… well… may I come in? What I have to talk to you about shouldn't be talked about at the front door."

Cathérine Malfoire inclined her head at that and then stepped back. The man, Nicholas, followed her lead and then gestured the vampire in.

Together with their guest, they returned to the sitting room and then with an invite to sit down towards the vampire they sat as well. Inside the room already were two other people. A man with black hair and cool grey eyes and a woman with the same blond hair like Cathérine's.

"My husband, Lord Henri Malfoire and my sister Perenelle, Nick's wife," Cathérine said before introducing the vampire to her husband and sister.

"He's Salvatio's professor at Hogwarts," she said. "Professor Sanguini."

The vampire bowed.

"Anastasius Sanguini, at your service," he said and then sat down.

A moment later one of the house elves brought some wine.

"May we ask why a teacher of my son has come to us while the school is in session?" Lord Henri Malfoire, asked coolly and sat up a little bit to fix the vampire with a stare.

The vampire sighed.

"It's… complicated," he said hesitatingly. "May I first inquire if something… happened at home before he returned to school?"

And while the other adults exchanged confused looks, Nicholas didn't dare to look up from his fingers. He was sure that the guilt was written in his face…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire had always been a curious child. From the day his parents had laid eyes on him, he had always been different.

While other children loved to listen to stories, Salvatio preferred textbooks. While other children started to get bored at political functions, Salvatio stayed and listened. While other children expressed a wish to play, Salvatio preferred to learn.

The child had an inquisitive mind and his parents and godparents soon learned that answering one question would just lead to another three to answer as well. They also learned that keeping their child away from knowledge would just make it more determinated to unearth it.

In the end, it was the father – Henri Malfoire – who gave in and started to teach the child politics just to keep it away from other secrets that it shouldn't know yet.

"Henri, he's but a five year old! Don't you think it's… well… a little to early to teach a five year old how to circumvent laws or how to use them for his benefits?" the godfather asked the father concerned when he found out about the new training his godson received.

The answer was a sigh.

"It's either that or watch how long he'll take to find out about his adoption," Henri answered and rubbed his forehead warily. "I love him, Nicholas. I love him as if he was my own son –"

"He is, Henri –"

"-from birth, I mean," Henri corrected himself and then turned to the door of his study to ensure that it was still closed, locked and spelled. "Like I said, I love him. But he's far too young to understand the circumstances that lead to his identity. Do you truly think that I can tell a barely five year old that his true parents died around his birth and that his true uncle couldn't take him because of circumstances? I can't talk about blood-adoption to a barely five year old!"

"So you're teaching him about politics," the godfather asked with a raised eyebrow and Henri inclined his head.

"So I'm teaching him about politics," he said. "That should occupy him for a while…"

It did – for about two years. Then they were back to square one.

Yes, Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child – but how curious Nicholas wouldn't learn until the boy had been home from his second year in Hogwarts for about a month and a half.

Nicholas himself was an inventor and alchemist. A lot of inventions in magic were made by him. A lot of discoveries in alchemy were made by him. A lot of new potions and spell were of his creation.

That day, Nicholas' wife Perenelle had wanted to visit her parents. Cathérine and Henri also decided to go. Nicholas instead had stayed behind to look after Salvatio who was currently ill in bed.

"Don't worry," he said when his wife and his sister-in-law and her husband left, "I will look after Salvatio."

"And no new potions until we're back, Nick!" his wife returned. "Who knows, you would even blow up the house if there isn't one of us near you to stop you!"

Nicholas had suppressed laughter at that.

"You know that I would never do that, love," he had answered and then kissed her good-bye. "See you later!"

Now, a few months later, Nicholas wished that he would have listened to his wife back then.

He didn't.

And he paid for it.

Tenfold.

So instead of doing something else, Nicholas had started a new potion in his lab that day. It was an experimental one and as such, relatively unstable. But Nicholas was an experienced potion's master and had done many great tasks with potions and alchemy. He even was in the process to create a true Philosopher's stone.

The potion Nicholas planed to create, was something to reduce fever. He had done his calculations over the last seven months and had looked up everything he could find about the ingredients he decided to use.

The potion formula he invented was sound, as far as Nicholas could tell, so he saw no reason to not brew the new potion right now…

Before he started, he had gone to his nephew's room.

The child had been ill with fever for the last four days and whatever Cathérine and Perenelle did – they both were experienced as healers – it didn't help. The child still burned as if it was fighting something constantly.

It wasn't the first time Salvatio had suffered under a fever like that. Since the child had turned nine, it had bouts of fever at least once a year and no one could tell what was wrong with the child.

In the end, Nicholas had started to invent the potion he wanted to start brewing that day.

"Salvatio?" he whispered into the darkened room and the child's tired eyes snapped up to look at him.

"Oncle… Nick?" it asked.

"I'm going to try the potion idea that I've been working on," Nicholas said. He hadn't told the child that the potion was for it. If he had done something wrong, at least the child wouldn't feel low because of it. "If you need me, I'm in the lab."

"A'right," the child mumbled as an answer and then closed its eyes again. Nicholas stepped next to the bed to measure the child's fever. The child leaned into his touch, desperate for the chill of Nicholas' hand.

The fever was still far too high.

Not good. Not good at all.

Nicholas just hoped that his potion would cure it. So in the end he tucked in the child and then kissed it on the forehead before he left, closing the door behind him softly.

Back in his lab, Nicholas started on his newly invented potion.

The formula was easy and quite straight forward. The calculations Nicholas had done all showed a low probability for accidents.

So when Nicholas added the next ingredient, a biting carrot, he expected nothing to happen.

The potion was stable, the calculations sound and the ingredients shouldn't react too badly with each other. He was sure that he knew exactly how the ingredients would react together and it should not have been dangerous.

However, he was wrong.

Instead of a slightly bubbling potion, the cauldron suddenly exploded, throwing him in the wall behind him, burning and poisoning him.

Nicholas wanted to scream in agony, but had no air to do so. His lungs burned. His legs were in an odd ankle and he couldn't even move his hands. His mind was fuzzy and even blinking didn't reduce the slow blackening of his vision. And while he was lying there on the ground he suddenly knew that this time there would be no-one who would come to his rescue. Cathérine and Henri and Perenelle had already left. The only ones at home were Nicholas himself and Salavtio who was sleeping off his fever.

He was all by himself.

He would die today – and as if he had called them, suddenly memories of his life invaded his fading consciousness.

It was said that at the end, you would see your life flashing by in front of your eyes – and Nicholas did. It was shambled and not in the proper order, but he saw his life nonetheless.

And it started with the first time he had ever seen his nephew…

xXxXxXxXx

"_The child – what happened to its parents?" he had asked the stranger who was still cradling the baby._

"_They died," the man answered instantly. "And I'm unable to care for him. I'm far too old to run after a young boy like him."_

_Nicholas guessed that the man meant it. The man's hair was white and his eyes were oddly milky, showing an eye illness old people often had._

"_Is there truly no-one else to claim the child?" Nicholas asked nervously. He didn't want to get up his friends' hopes just to find out that there was someone else still._

"_The parents are dead; the… uncle can't care for him. The grandparents are too old. It was a mutual decision. You don't have to fear about losing him again."_

_And Nicholas had called his sister-in-law and her husband, his friend._

_The first time Cathérine got to hold her son, was the first time Nicholas saw her smile in five years._

"_What's his name?" she asked the stranger._

_The man just smiled._

"_We called him Sal," he said. "But whatever you chose will be fine. He's young enough not to mind a change in name."_

"_We should leave 'Sal' nevertheless," Cathérine replied. "I think it wouldn't be right for him to lose the last connection he still has with his birth-parents."_

_In the end they decided on Salvatio._

"_Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire," Cathérine said. And neither Nicholas nor Henri had the heart to tell her that the child might later on hate to be named after a stone…_

xXxXxXxXx

That had been nearly thirteen years ago. Thirteen years of laughter – and now Nicholas would bring new tragedy to the family by dying…

That was the moment the door to Nicholas lab flew open and Salvatio entered stumbling. For a moment, the child stopped, its eyes widened. Then panic crossed its face and it stumbled towards him, clearly unsteady on its feet.

"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio cried, speeding up to reach the lethal injured man that was his uncle and godfather. "Oncle Nick!"

Salvatio reached him and fell next to him on his knees.

Nicholas could see the horror on the child's face and tried instantly to distract the young boy from his beaten, gruesome looking body.

"It… will be… alright, Salvatio," he pressed out. "Don't… worry… too much."

Dark spots started to dance in front of his eyes, but those desperate and fearful green eyes in front of him made him fight the darkness.

Instead another memory creped in his mind…

xXxXxXxXx

_Salvatio had been seven, when they finally had told him that he was adopted._

_The child hadn't taken it well and had run away._

_It had been Nicholas who found it._

"_Salvatio," he said, while leaning onto the tree his nephew had vanished into. "Don't you think that running away might be the wrong reaction?"_

_The answer was a tear-filled scoff._

"_Don't care," the child said. "It's not as if I'm wanted."_

_Nicholas raised an eyebrow at that._

"_How did you come to that absurd conclusion?" he asked. The answer was a little shock._

"_Because if they truly would have wanted me, they wouldn't have brought it up," the child answered sobbing. "Until now, they never talked about it with me. I thought that meant that they saw me as theirs…"_

_Nicholas sighed at that._

"_Obviously we weren't able to even keep this secret from you," he said, and then he shook his head. "Your parents would have never told you if it weren't for your heritage."_

_At that, Salvatio had looked up._

"_What do you mean?" and Nicholas sighed and started to explain about the condition that had come with the child._

"_They didn't want to wait to tell you until you had to find out because they feared you would feel betrayed. At the same time they wanted you to be old enough to understand their arguments when they told you. It is obvious now that we should have talked to you years ago…"_

xXxXxXxXx

"Oncle Nick!" And Nicholas returned to the lethal situation he was in.

He tried to smile at the panicking boy, but instead felt darkness creeping near.

"Not… your… fault" he rasped. "Say… tante Perenelle… I… love… er…"

He lost consciousness.

The last thing he saw were his nephew's eyes, lighting up in unearthly green fire.

"Not you, too. I won't lose you, too!" then the darkness found him.

xXxXxXxXx

"_Papa! Papa! Look! I've got a letter from a school in Britain!"_

"_May I see it, mon fils?" and Nicholas stepped next to Henri to look at the letter as well._

"_Nicholas," Henri said, but the other man had already taken the open letter to read it over again._

"_It's from Hogwarts, the British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Nicholas said. "It's inviting Salvatio to join."_

_Henri looked at him confused._

"_But why?" he asked. "Salvatio is living in France!"_

"_I guess, he was born in Britain," Nicholas said. "My parents had to go to Beauxbatons themselves to enrol me there. I didn't get a letter since I wasn't born in France."_

"_If papa finds out –"_

"_-then you tell him that Cathérine and you were still in Britain when Salvatio was born. You were visiting your cousin at that time after all and you came home with the child after staying at our home for about two weeks – far longer than you planed. It's easy to pretend that you were still in Britain back then. That is, if you want your child to go to Scotland for its education…" Nicholas replied. "Salvatio knows that he's adopted. Maybe he wants to at least feel a little close to the parents he lost before he could remember them…"_

_xXxXxXxXx_

_Beauxbatons' yearly Yule ball was as dull as every year – at least until sixteen-year-old Nicholas laid eyes on a girl he had never acknowledged before. She was wearing a yellow summer dress with red flowers on it. Her pale blond hair had also red flowers woven in it and her forest green eyes were twinkling like the stars._

"_Mademoiselle Delacourt!" he said. "What a stunning dress you are wearing today!"_

_She laughed at that._

"_Stunning enough to root you on the floor, Monsieur Flamel?" she asked at that, her eyes twinkling even more. "Or are you still able to ask me for a dance?"_

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_Ah, Lord Malfoire, it's nice to see you again. Have you thought about my petition for the Magenmagot? With your vote, we would surely win."_

"_A legislation to register pureblood-born is not exactly what I want to support, Lord –"_

"_You should think about it, Lord Malfoire. After all, who knows what repercussions could come out of it if you decide to not vote for –"_

"_Père?" And Henri Malfoire had turned to look at his innocent looking six-year-old son._

"_Not now, Salvatio," he said softly._

_The boy just looked at him confused for a moment, then turned to the other Lord._

"_Milord," he said. "Are you talking about the bribes that you pay the Head of the Aurors to keep your head out of prison when you talk about repercussions?"_

_And when the other lord paled, the innocent looking child continued. "Or is it about the illegal gambling you join every Thursday night?"_

_And Nicholas stood in the back and suppressed laughter at that. The boy was six! A six-year-old devil. How by Merldin and Morgana had that little devil sniffed out that information?_

"_Er… never mind, Lord Malfoire," the lord finally said. "I guess I will have to do without your help…"_

_And Nicholas burst out laughing, just silenced by the quick spell of his wife aimed at him._

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_You know, when you ever – EVER – touch me again I will –" eighteen-year-old Nicholas Flamel tried in vain to not listen to his wife. Currently she had started on all the curses she would bestow upon him if he ever dared to enter her bed again._

"_Don't worry," one of the two midwives whispered. "She'll calm down later. It's often like that in birth –"_

"_Good… to know," Nicholas answered and then swallowed when his wife found a new idea to get her revenge on him…_

_He wondered if his hand would survive that night…_

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_Bonjour!" Lafayette, the best wandmaker in Paris, said when they entered. "Madam and Monsieur Malfoire, how may I help you today?"_

"_We're here to get a wand for our son, Monsieur Lafayette" Henri answered, pushing nine-year-old Salvatio softly to the counter._

_The wand-maker looked at the boy._

"_He does not look like he's eleven" Lafayette finally said._

"_He isn't" Henri answered while letting Nicholas and Perenelle enter. "He is nine."_

"_So why are you coming to me now?" Lafayette asked surprised. "There's still time."_

"_Normally there would be" Nicholas answered. "But Salvatio does know too much about magic and we cannot continue his study without a wand."_

_Lafayette raised an eyebrow._

"_Normally parents do not teach their children a lot of magic until they reach the eleventh year of their life" he said, scrutinizing Nicholas and the others._

"_He's a genius" Henri answered sighing. "He learned to read when he was barely three and I fear he does now know my library better than me."_

"_So he just read things?"_

"_No. He followed us around and asked question after question until we started to teach him what we know." Cathérine answered. "You are not telling us we should have stomped our son's thirst of knowledge?!"_

"_No" this time the wand-maker was studying the boy in front of the counter. Salvatio just stared back._

"_How do you chose which wand does fit which wizard? Do you just let them swing the wands or do you test their bloods for their affinity?"_

_Nicholas could see the surprise in the eyes of the wand-maker when Salvatio asked his questions. Nicholas himself just shook his head. He had long ago given up on trying to understand how the youth came up with his questions._

"_I use their blood" the wand-maker finally answered looking curious. "You're definitely not a normal young man, are you, young Malfoire?"_

_The boy just shrugged._

"_I like to know things" he answered._

"_Well then… would you give me some drops of your blood to test it?" the wand-maker asked._

"_How many?" the boy answered, looking at the wand-maker with hooded eyes._

"_Just two – there is nothing else I can do with them except of testing your affinity." The wand-maker answered smiling at the boy. Salvatio scrutinized him for a moment, then he nodded and extended his hand._

"_You can have them" he said but he watched the wand-maker the whole time after he had spent the two drops. Nicholas found it amusing._

"_You should not have told him about blood-magic and the Dark Arts, Nicholas" Perenelle scolded him quietly while watching Salvatio being measured._

"_He asked and I saw no reason not to tell him" Nicholas defended himself. _

"_Well, the reason should be obvious" Henri said chuckling. "And I wondered why Salvatio was looking at the wand-maker as if he was the new Dark Lord."_

_Nicholas shrugged._

"_Maybe I should have waited a few years," he answered. "But I saw no reason to at the time Salvatio asked. I did not think that he would make an enemy out of the wand-maker when he asks for his blood…"_

_In the end, they ended up with a new wand for the child and a warning: __"Holy is an unusual wood for a wand" the wand-maker said. "But combined with the pureness of unicorn-blood and the darkness of grim-hair – something like that implies a greatness and a pureness of the soul I have not seen before. Watch out for him – he will change our world more than once until he dies…"_

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_You could adopt one of our children. Neither Perenelle nor I would mind if you –"_

"_No, Nicholas. Both, Cathérine and I know how much you love your seven children. We won't take one of them from you just because we can't have an own."_

"_You wouldn't take it. Perenelle and I would still see it every day. It would just have four parents instead of two!"_

"_No, Nicholas, no! Please! We simply can't –"_

"_-Then at least give me the right to search for a child you can take in without feeling guilty!"_

"_Alright. That, I can accept…"_

…

…

…

"_Salvatio –"_

xXxXxXxXx

Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child. He had always been inquisitive and had absorbed knowledge like a sponge from the moment he was given to his parents. Nothing had been safe from him. If there was a secret, he found it. If there was trouble, he landed in the middle of it and pulled himself out again before his parents could even think about helping him.

Yes, Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire was a curious child – but whatever he had learn, how different he was, nothing could prepare him for the day he found his uncle dying in his lab.

Salvatio had been feeling ill that day. It was the fever he had had ever for at least once a year since his ninth birthday.

This time, his parents and Aunt Perenelle hadn't been able to stay at home, so in the end, only Oncle Nicholas had stayed to watch over him.

It didn't truly matter to Salvatio. He had slept anyway, so he didn't mind his parents leaving too much. At least he didn't until he heard the explosion in the lab and came there to make sure that his Oncle was alright.

He wasn't, and it had torn Salvatio's heart when he had seen the extent of his Oncle's injuries and had heard his Oncle's words, trying to relieve him from a guilt that hadn't settled yet on Salvatio's narrow shoulders.

"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio pleaded, "Oncle Nick! Oncle Nick!" But the man's eyes had been unfocused and his breathing laboured. Something in Salvatio told him that his Oncle wouldn't survive those injuries. Something in Salvatio told him that he had to act, to safe the man in front of him – but whatever told him these facts, whatever called to him, he couldn't grasp it. It was as if it was removed from his reach by an unbreakable wall.

A wall Salvatio couldn't breach.

A wall Salvatio didn't want to even try to breach because he instinctively knew that behind that wall, nothing but pain was hidden.

Then his Oncle's eyes unfocused even more, for a moment, they shut. And Salvatio's hands grabbed at the shirt of his Oncle as if he could hold him, as if he could rescue him if he just held on strong enough on the bloody fabric.

Then Oncle Nicholas smiled.

"Oncle Nick!" Salvatio repeated his pleading.

And Nicholas returned to the lethal situation he was in. Again, his Oncle's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile reassuringly.

"Not… your… fault" his Oncle rasped. "Say… tante Perenelle… I… love… er…"

His Oncle's eyes closed. And suddenly, Salvatio was totally aware of the blood that not only drenched his godfather's and his own clothing, but that also had started to tint the floor red. A red puddle slowly but surely spread over the stone-floor, mixing with the greens and browns of the exploded potion and surrounding the bits and pieces of metal from the destroyed cauldron.

"Please, no, no, no!" Salvatio mumbled, his hands over his godfather's body, unable to touch him in fear of hurting him, but also unable to stay still and do nothing while something in his mind told him that Salvatio _should _be able to help – somehow, somehow…

But there was no way – and there was no-one he could call. Yes, his parents were noble. Yes, they had servants and even two house-elves, but the servants were home and the house-elves had gone with their masters and would be unable to hear the call from that far away.

Salvatio was alone and his godfather's blood was slowly soaking his garments.

It was when he saw his godfather's eyes flickering once, before the figure in front of him seemed to loose even the tiny rest of its life, that suddenly another, foreign part of him rose and filled him – still imprisoned behind impenetrable walls but there nonetheless.

His eyes lightened up in unearthly green fire.

"Not you, too. I won't lose you, too!" he hissed, his fists tightening until his nails drew his own blood.

Salvatio couldn't tell, who he had lost, but he knew, he _knew_ as sure as he knew his name that he _had_ lost someone – and he wouldn't lose Nick.

One of Salvatio's bloodied fists loosened and reached up to his neck where a locket lay – a locket he had worn since the day he had been brought to his family.

His fist closed around that piece of jewellery as if to pray to it.

Then he ripped it from his neck, throwing it away from him and watched it meet the opposite wall where it fell to the ground.

Salvatio hadn't thought about that gesture, he had simply done it, not caring, that the chain had left his neck bloodied or that the locket had opened when it met the wall.

Instead he turned back to his Oncle, his hands again hovering over the man while he prayed, he prayed to whoever would listen that somehow his godfather wouldn't die.

"You can't die, Oncle Nick! Not you, too!" he whispered. Then his hands finally stopped hovering and instead ripped open his Oncle's shirt so that he could see the damage.

Salvatio knew instantly, that even his mother or Tante Perenelle would be unable to save his godfather from dying. Salvatio had watched both ladies often enough when they induced into the healing arts to know that even their knowledge wouldn't be enough to safe the dying man in front of him – and yet, there was something in Salvatio that told him that his godfather could be saved, if Salvatio just would _listen…_

But Salvatio was a twelve-year-old child. Whatever he knew, he didn't know enough – by Morgana, no one Salvatio knew would know enough to rescue the man in front of him!

"You know, you could help him if you truly tried, Salvazsahar," a voice suddenly said and Salvatio turned wide-eyed towards the speaker. No one was there, just a shadow at the wall, flickering in the light of the still burning fire.

Salvatio turned back towards his godfather his hands again hovering, this time over the wounds.

"If you swear yourself to me, like your ancestors did, I would even help you," the voice said again and again Salvatio's head snapped towards the place where he had heard the voice from. There was nothing but the slightly moving door.

"If you truly want it – you are now strong enough to circumvent the barrier. It has lost a lot of its strength already," this time Salvatio thought that he even might have seen something – but when he focused on the place, there was still nothing there.

"It's your decision…"

Before Salvatio could even think about looking at the place where the voice had come from this time around, his Oncle's breathing stopped.

"No, no, no! No!" Salvatio cried. "No!"

And in an automatic gesture he reached for his Oncle's forehead, his fingers dancing, drawing runes in a known and yet so foreign pattern. Then he drew runes on his own forehead, before carving both of them into the flesh and activating them.

It all happened within seconds.

The magic of the activation cursed through his body and for a moment Salvatio's sight blackened. Then it returned in full colour – somehow feeling more intense than any other time before.

And his Oncle drew a rattling breath.

"You won't die on me, Oncle," the words were harsh and the barrier in Salvatio's mind wavered.

But something was wrong.

Something was different.

Salvatio's magic didn't flow like it ever did before.

Something had changed – something necessary had changed…

"Blood-magic," Salvatio whispered to himself. "I haven't done my blood-magic…"

And yet, that creature behind the barrier knew that there was no way to stop the ritual now – if they died doing it or not. The moment the runes were activated, Salvatio had thrown his life on the line.

But it didn't matter. Somehow it didn't matter that he had done so.

"You have a choice. Remember and rescue his life and yours or live forever in regret," the voice whispered again, but this time, Salvatio wasn't sure if the voice hadn't come from within him, hadn't been a part of him.

And suddenly Salvatio knew that whatever he had to remember – whatever pain was hidden away, pounding against the barrier in his mind – he had to remember, because he would never forgive himself if he could have rescued his godfather and hadn't done it because he had been afraid of a little bit of pain.

And with that thought, with that decision, the walls in his mind shattered, giving access to the memories lost behind…

xXxXxXxXx

"_So… I will stay fifteen – forever?!" Salvatio heard himself ask a man he knew as atr, father. _

"_I am not sure" his father answered. "But I have made up a theory."_

"_A theory?"_

"_You are not from this time. Even if you have been reborn here – you still should not exist here because there are no circumstances that would have lead to your existence." His father elaborated. "So your body might be in stasis until you return to your rightful time. That means you would be able to grow in mind, but not in body until then."_

"_But… what is with dying?" _

"_My theory suspects, that you won't be able to die until you are back in your own time. You are timeless until you reach the day you left you own time. After that you should age normally."_

"_So I will be fifteen for the next thousand or two thousand years?!" _

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_He was stricken with horror when I told him" Salvatio's memory self told a knight – Sir Lancelot, his mind supplied. "He wanted to see my arm trice before he was sure that the Basilisk-venom had not killed me!"_

"_The story was true?" the knight asked half-horrified half-awed._

"_It bid me" Salvatio had said casually. "It was a phoenix that healed me."_

"_I am surprised that your father did not insist that you would never leave his side again," the knight said. "How many winters did you count when this happened? Two? Three? As big as the scar is you must have been no more then a toddler!"_

_A memory of his twelve-year-old self slaying the basilisk._

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_I taught you healing for ten years – and now you don't want to finalize the last step in your profession?" Morgana had said._

"_A healer cannot fight" Salvatio heard himself answer._

"_And you want to fight?"_

"_No, I want to protect."_

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_The time I grew up in, it was normal to do blood-magic. Rituals and potions were the most often used arts of magic. For us, blood-magic wasn't evil, it just was a way to gain control over your gift." Salvatio heard himself tell one of his best friends – Godric had been his name._

"_But it's seen as evil now – so why didn't you stop?" said man objected._

"_Because I can't," Salvatio had answered sincerely._

"_What do you mean 'you can't'?"_

"_Blood-magic can be deadly if you…" then Salvatio had changed his explanation. "There are rituals and rituals, Godric. The first rituals a druid does are those to shield their body from the following rituals. After that comes the blood-wakening. If you wouldn't do the blood-wakening, you could stop after shielding yourself from other rituals. But after the blood-wakening you have to keep doing blood-magic. If you wouldn't you would lose the grip on your magic and finally on your mind. It wouldn't do you any good if you stopped."_

"_Oh," Godric had said, his eyes wide. "So… so you have to do it? You would go crazy if you didn't, right?"_

"_Yes. But there is always a setback in every kind of magic you practice."_

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_Huh? But… I didn't! Why should I call you a monster?!" Salvatio heard Godric's confused voice and he could feel a taste of his hurt and furious feelings of that time._

"_I don't know," Salvatio had answered. "All I know is that you did! You called me a monster to my face. You called my father, my grandparents and my son a monster to my face! And you ask me why I would be furious with you?!"_

"_I would never…! This whole discussion was about purebloods and pure-blooded children in Haugh's Wards! That discussion wasn't about you or your family!"_

"_Well, news-flash, Godric! I am a pureblood! My father was a pureblood! My grandparents were! My son is! I might be a mixed born pureblood but a pureblood nonetheless! I never thought you would think of me as a creature unable to behave human!"_

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_Mother was weak. She never understood that some things have to be done to come closer to our Firbolg-inheritance. This ritual is one of them – after all our ancestors are immortal, so that just tells us we should be immortal, too." Medrawd, his beloved baby brother had said, and Salvatio's response had been harsh at that time._

"_Don't try to reason with me, brother. I am a healer. I would not understand what you are talking about."_

"_You were always more like mother," his brother had answered unconcerned. "No! You are like my father. Too blinded by your need to look out for others to understand an opportunity like that!"_

"_I think this time I am proud that you think I am like Arthur. I wouldn't even want to be like you!"_

_xXxXxXxXx_

"_I'm sorry, Salvazsahar," Salvatio heard Peverell say in his memory. "But it isn't your time yet. You might hate me for it later on, rightfully so, but if you ever need me and I'm still around, come and find me. I betrayed you once, I won't do it again."_

_And then words came to him that he hadn't heard back then, but that he remembered now._

"_Tell me, my Lord, does his suffering please you so much that you force me to prolong it?" Peverell had asked in a desperate tone of voice._

_The answer was a laugh._

"_Nay, Peverell, child," the wind had whispered. "But it's not his time yet. He can't be claimed by Death until the circle is fulfilled."_

It was the same voice that had spoken to Salvatio just moments ago…

"It's your decision, child," the voice said in that moment. "You know my price. If you will serve me like your ancestors served me, I will help you to rescue your godfather…"

And Salvazsahar looked up at the shadowy figure that was hardly seen in the light of the fire.

Then his eyes travelled back to the man in front of him – a man that was just still alive because of the magic that bound him to Salvazsahar. It was an unstable connection, a risky one. Salvazsahar could feel the connection's instability like he could feel the instability of his own mind.

Still, he had to do it, he had to try.

With experienced hands he started to paint the ritual circle on the floor. Then he placed the nearly dead man in the middle and activated the runes.

Again, Salvazsahar's magic stuttered before it stabilized, its instability together with his still suffering mind was drawing on his sanity and the clarity of his thoughts.

Salvazsahar shook his head and focused.

He picked up one of the knives that Nicholas normally used for potion ingredients, made sure that it was safe to use and then cut open the other man's body to reach the organs.

For a moment dizziness overcame him and his mind slipped.

_Not good, he needed to focus!_

But it was hard, so hard without the stability of his own magic. It was odd, the moment he remembered, the moment his magic turned wonky. But then, Salvazsahar had been ill at least once a year with fever since his ninth birthday – a clear sign of his slowly unhinging blood-magic.

If he had woken like planned by Peverell, the other man would have been able to guide Salvazsahar through the wakening and like that he might have been able to stabilize Salvazsahar until he had renewed his blood-magic.

Like it was now, Salvazsahar had just himself to rely on – and a patient he had to heal or he would forever regret it…

So he focused on the task with all his might.

But it was hard, and after a time, it slowly but surely started to impossible.

When Salvazsahar had not even finished the healing of the organs of the other man, his hand nearly slipped when his mind suddenly drifted away into nothingness for a moment.

"You know that you won't be able to safe him like that," the voice whispered again while Salvazsahar tried with all his might to return his focus on the task, to clear his thoughts and his mind and concentrate again.

He couldn't.

The fog that had started to invade his mind had strengthened and he couldn't even see his work anymore, nevertheless think about the next step.

"No, no, no! No! Please, not now!" he whispered, knowing without a doubt that he had to safe the man, but also knowing that he wouldn't be able to do it…

"Just one word, Salvazsahar," the voice said and its sound mixed with memories of other sounds. Colours started to dance in Salvazsahar's vision. Memories blurred, past and present slowly but surely melted together and Salvazsahar knew – knew without a doubt – that if he didn't get a grip of his mind right now, he would lose himself to insanity.

It was like back then, thirteen years ago when Peverell had rescued him, and at the same time it was nothing like it at all. While back then it had been a deliberate step towards insanity and the all consuming nothingness of the after-life, this time it wasn't wanted but fought. And Salvazsahar was losing said fight.

But he couldn't lose another person he loved. He couldn't lose the man who had taken the place of an uncle, of a godfather, of someone trusted and loved in his life.

"Please, I'll do everything!" he pleaded. "Please, just don't die on me!"

And like a sledge hammer something rammed into his soul, anchoring it to life and sanity.

It felt like downing.

It felt like being stabbed all over again.

Burning pain filled his body and his mind screamed when it was flooded with the same white flames that Salvazsahar had called to end his life just thirteen years ago.

Salvazsahar gasped and closed his eyes for a moment when his vision finally cleared and returned to normal.

Then tears leaked out of his eyes, dropping onto the wounds of his uncle, healing them slowly and surely like only phoenix tears could.

Salvazsahar's hands also worked with renewed strength until the last grave wound was healed and the man in front of him was as good as new.

Only when Salvazsahar was sure that his patient would live, he raised his face to the ceiling and spoke.

"Why did you even ask?" he said. "As far as I know I belonged to you already from birth. Why did you even ask for my promise when you already had me in your clutches?"

"Because without your answer today, you wouldn't have belonged to me from birth," the voice answered.

"So you already knew my answer. You already knew that I would lose my last safe-haven today, my last chance of peace in the eternal arms of death…"

"Don't worry, " the voice answered softly. "You don't belong to me fully, yet. And you won't remember your promise until it is time."

And with that, wind caressed Salvazsahar's hair, and to the crying child, the once dying man woke up to new life.

xXxXxXxXx

The next, Nicholas could remember was agony. All filling agony, cursing through his body, binding his soul and fogging his mind.

And then it was gone and peace filled him.

Nicholas opened his eyes again, seeing his nephew sitting beside him, weeping.

"Salvatio" he said softly and the boy looked down from the ceiling, his eyes focusing on his Oncle, tears still in his eyes.

"You stopped breathing for a moment," the boy said flustered. "I thought I lost you!"

Nicholas blinked at that and then sat up. His body still ached but the all-consuming pain was gone. Carefully he touched his chest and legs, sure that his rips had been broken as well as his bones in his legs.

Nothing.

No open chest, no broken rips or bones.

Not even blood, except of the blood which still marred his formally white tunic.

"I… I thought I could not rescue you!" the boy next to him cried and flung himself in Nicholas unsteady arms. "I fought! I fought! But it was… too much… way too much blood… and I didn't remember! I didn't remember!"

The boy hick-upped, clutching Nicholas' tunic like a life-line.

"Shh" Nicholas said, still feeling slightly ill. "Shh, it's all right, child, it's all right."

And just then he finally was able to comprehend the boy's words.

_I thought I could not rescue you… Way too much blood… _

"You healed me?!" Nicholas asked astonished, looking down at the boy in his arms. He knew his wounds had been lethal and not even Cathérine with all her knowledge would have been able to safe him this time.

"Y…Yes" the boy stuttered, still weeping.

"I had to… you were dying, Oncle Nick."

"I know I was," Nicholas answered while trying to wrap his head around the fact that his thirteen year old nephew had healed him.

"How…?" he finally asked and the boy pointed at ground around him. Written with white crayon there were runes, hundreds of runes.

Nicholas shuddered.

"Dark Magic?!" he asked, not sure if he should really be angry at his nephew. "You used Dark Magic to rescue me?!"

The boy, his head still buried in Nicholas breast, shook it fiercely.

"No!" He cried. "No!"

"But it was a ritual," Nicholas stated, while starting to feel better and better, as if each tear which fell on him, took away the pain.

"Yes" the boy whispered.

"A ritual to bring back the death?" Nicholas asked carefully but fearfully.

"No" the boy shook his head again. "A ritual to heal. But it did not help much. You were still dying."

New tears fell on Nicholas.

_A ritual to heal…_ Nicholas never ever had heard about something like that before. Where had the boy learned it from?!

"I was still dying?" he finally asked. The head, still buried in his chest, nodded. Nicholas decided to let the ritual go until the boy was less upset.

"So how did you rescue me?" he asked instead.

A tear-strained face looked up to him, the eyes puffy and red.

"I... I don't know… I cried. I cried and you healed," the boy answered. "And now I can't stop crying."

Nicholas blinked at these words, but wiped away the tears still rolling down the boy's cheeks. He wanted to asked, how crying should have healed him, but in that moment he found the answer himself. The boys tears soaked in his skin and a faint glow emitted where they had been. Nicholas felt his fingers getting more agile, healthier.

He stared at the boy who clung to him and back at his fingers. A sudden suspicion filling his mind.

Again he wiped away the boy's tears, this time holding his hand so that the dim light of the fire could enlighten them.

They glowed in the colours of the rainbow, twinkled like little stars.

Nicholas was a potion master, he knew this glimmering.

Phoenix tears.

And then he remembered the stranger's answer to his question from way back then.

"_A pureblood child?" Nicholas had asked and the stranger had hesitated a moment before answering: "Yes."_

A child with phoenix tears.

And suddenly Nicholas etched for answers he couldn't get from the child.

xXxXxXxXx

"I don't think that something has happened to Salvatio over the holidays," Cathérine said in that moment. "Yes, he was a little bit different in the last part of the summer, a little bit more withdrawn and cautious maybe, but I don't remember an event that happened that could have changed him. I simply thought that he was growing up…"

"Something has changed within your son over the summer," the vampire Professor replied to that. "Whatever happened, he isn't the same anymore."

"What do you mean, Professor?" Nicholas asked and the Professor hesitated.

"He… treats me different," the Professor finally settled on.

"You mean Salvatio suddenly shows prejudice towards you?" Henri Malfoire asked frowning, but the vampire professor shook his head.

"No… no prejudice… just… different," he seemed uncomfortable with his answer. Nicholas was quite sure that the vampire could elaborate further but didn't want to for whatever reason.

"I was just concerned that something might have happened that could have affected him," the vampire finally settled on. "If there truly was no event, then I guess he truly is just growing up and he will grow out of his current behaviour quite soon…"

"If he's doing something wrong, we can talk to –" Cathérine started to say, but the vampire interrupted her with a soft smile.

"That isn't necessary, for now, I think," he said. "Give him some time to grow up. I promise that I will talk to you if the changes are intolerable. I just came to make sure that nothing else happened…"

In the end, the vampire left again, leaving an uncomfortable Nicholas alone with three other, baffled persons. And for a moment, just for a moment, Nicholas actually thought about telling the others what happened. Then he remembered his own promise to himself that he wouldn't say a word until he knew the full story – and that story he had yet to unravel.

xXxXxXxXx

Meanwhile a vampire walked away from a manor with a gleam in his eyes.

"I guess that there is someone else to visit tonight," Anastasius Sanguini murmured. "And I hope for Peverell's sake that he has a very good explanation for hiding my own father from his family for nearly thirteen years…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for now. Sorry, I couldn't resist to end here. xD_

_I hope you liked the chapter anyway…_

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	43. Chapter 42: Twisting All Around

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Twisting All Around**

sss

Cornelius Fudge was seething.

"What do you mean that if I ever dare to threaten Xenophilius Lovegood again I will get sued?" he cried. The man in front of him just looked at him unruffled.

"Exactly what I said," he answered the red-faced Minister. "My clients don't like that you tried to interfere with a private business. If you ever dare to do so again, we will go to court – and believe me, Minister, it won't end favourable for you."

Cornelius hissed wordlessly at that.

"I have every right to stop a liar from spreading his lies throughout the population!" he finally spluttered. "And if _The Quibbler_ doesn't give up Oliver Twist I will make sure that that rag is shut down!"

"Like I said before, Minister, if you ever dare to come near Xenophilius Lovegood again, if you ever dare to threaten him again – it will be the last thing you will ever do," Magus Adam Selwyn, lawyer of Morganaadth, said coolly. "Have a good day, Minister."

And with that the lawyer turned and left, leaving seething Fudge.

The minister gripped the magazine in his hands tighter, crumpling it slightly.

"We will see how long you will stand behind that Oliver Twist when I officially proclaim him a liar and disturber of peace!" he whispered. Of course, he couldn't use the Daily Prophet to do so anymore since that newspaper was now also printing Twist's article – but there were always other ways.

"You will regret ever writing a single line, Twist," Fudge said, and with that he threw the magazine across the room. It landed open, showing of the article that Fudge despised more than anything else in the moment:

xXxXx

_**The Ministry's gamble**_

"_Sirius Black is innocent!" with that unbelievable statement, the Wizengamot meeting ended yesterday. Truly? Innocent?! I know, I pointed out the probability of that, months ago – but to find out that Sirius Black, famed mass-murderer, betrayer of the Potters, and right hand man of the Dark Lord Tom Riddle never had a trial, still blows my mind. _

_Of course, you'll now say: "But you've already talked about Lord Black!" My answer to that will be simple: Of course I have talked about said man before – but back then it was mere speculation, contrary to now, when said speculations were finally confirmed. What hasn't been confirmed so far instead was the reason why it happened in the first place._

_Fact is: Everyone – Death Eater and Imperius-victim – back then got a trial… except, that is, Lord Sirius Black. Fact is as well that Sirius Black was hailed as the right hand man of Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, betrayer to the Potters, and mass-murderer. One should think that at least two of those 'titles' would have put Black on the top of the list of those who will get a trial – best by shoving Veritasserum down his throat before bringing him into court, just to ensure the truth, of course._

_Instead he was quietly chucked away into Azkaban. Now, forget for a moment that the Lord Black was innocent. Imagine that he wasn't. Do you know the consequences?_

_The consequences would have been a man in Azkaban who would have known exactly what Riddle was working on, who worked for him – marked and unmarked followers – who was imperiused, who was imprisoned somewhere or killed, who was still on the hit-list of his Death Eaters, etc. If Sirius Black truly had been the right hand man, like he was hailed back then, shouldn't we accuse the Ministry of not doing their duty? They had, as they thought back then, a truly valuable prisoner in their care – and they did nothing!_

_The Longbottoms were attacked two days after Blacks imprisonment – do you truly think that if Black would have been the right hand man of Voldemort he wouldn't have known of the plan to attack this family?! The Bones' died four days after, the McKinnons six – all deaths that could have been averted if the Ministry truly would have believed their claim of Black's allegiance. And yet, he was never questioned – as if the Ministry never cared about its own subjects back then._

_Of course, you might say: "But that was back then! We've got another Minister now!" And I will have to answer you: "Yes, we do – but does that make him any better than the last?"_

_Fact is: This Minister tried as well to discredit an innocent Lord – Lord Potter, our saviour – by accusing him of staged charges. Fact is as well that he dismisses the death of a young boy, Cedric Diggory, as unimportant even if the murderer was never caught. Better yet, the Minister refuses to even ask the only witness of Cedric Diggory's death for a statement. Instead he is trying to discredit young Lords and innocent journalists._

_And do you know the consequences of that?_

_The consequence is that there's a murder on the loose in the Wizarding World, and yet, there is no one even looking into it. Just on Hallowe'en Azkaban prison was broken into and known Death Eaters vanished. The Minster's first reaction to that? Accusing Black – a man who was then proven innocent. So the Minister simply went on to his next target: Accusing the man who incriminated Black, Peter Pettigrew. And yet, even after finding out through the evidence that Lord Black provided, the Minister is still unwilling to even listen to our very own Saviour, Lord Potter, who told him that Pettigrew was the one killing Cedric Diggory back then in summer. Isn't it finally time to get together the evidence for the murder of an innocent seventeen year old? Isn't it time to listen to the only survivor of what might have been an ordeal? Or do you want to live with an unknown mass-murderer on the loose?_

_The ministry has locked away a man they thought to be the right hand man of a Dark Lord without a trial once – are they willing to disregard what knowledge they can gain through Lord Potter's memories about that new threat, simply because one man is afraid that Lord Potter might have evidence that he doesn't want to be true?_

_Think about the Bones, the Longbottoms, and the McKinnons. They all might have lived if the ministry would have truly believed their claim of Lord Black being the right hand man of Tom Riddle and using the knowledge he supposedly had. If they just had questioned the man, maybe then Pettigrew could have been found early and maybe then the true right hand man of Tom Riddle would have given away the knowledge of those attacks before they happened. We're now in a similar situation like back then. Lord Potter knows the killer. Lord Potter has seen him – and yet, the ministry refuses to even view his memories._

_What if the murderer will murder again? Will you just watch on? Will you just wait until you are the one on his target list? Just remember: There's someone who can identify the ones who killed Cedric Diggory. Are you willing to be responsible for further deaths because you disregarded the evidence you have? The previous government is already partly at fault for the deaths of three families – if you don't force the current one to act, can you be sure that it won't be responsible for even more dead because of inaction in the end?_

_I, for my part, don't want to know. And so I plead with the Minister, with the government, and everyone else who is willing to listen to give Lord Potter the right to speak up about Cedric Diggory's death. _

_It's a simple case of viewing evidence – and yet, maybe it's the only hope for potential future victims. If the Minister refuses, I will hold him responsible for every future dead who's killed by the murderer who killed Cedric Diggory thanks to the Minister's inaction. So I plead with the Ministry: Give Lord Potter the right to finally speak up!_

_And maybe, if we're lucky, no other family will have to lose a child because the murderer is caught before he or they can do more harm than they already have…_

_Oliver Twist_

xXxXx

Harry put down the newspaper he had been reading. He was quite happy with the pre-arranged article he had send Xeno. Harry had known, thanks to Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom, that Sirius' case would be viewed by the Wizengamot, soon. So Harry had pre-written the article since Amelia had told Augusta that there was no way that Sirius wouldn't get free. Harry was quite proud of the article. It fit wonderfully into his plans. Now he had just to put something else in motion – and if he had to risk being tattled on for that one again, well, so be it…

His gaze wandered to his best female friend. Hermione was working on her homework. She was scribbling frantically and Harry looked at her sheet of parchment with interest. He read her work thoroughly, just to read it again afterwards. After he had read it the third time he finally decided to speak up – after all, what better time than now?

"Uh…Hermione?"

"What do you want, Harry?" Hermione asked, a little bit peeved that Harry would bother her while she was doing her homework.

"What are you writing there?" Harry asked, still looking at her paper.

"My homework for Ancient Runes, Harry," she answered crisply.

Harry still did not stop looking. His eyes were traveling through her lines as if he was reading them.

"I don't understand it," Harry said, making sure to sound troubled. "Are you sure you are doing it right?"

"It's Ancient Runes, Harry," Hermione said coolly. "Of course you don't understand it. I am writing Runes."

"Yeah, wrongly," Harry answered shortly, still letting his eyes wander. "Your sentence does not make any sense."

"How would you know that?!"

"Look at it!" The boy answered. "Whatever you want to say – you don't say it at all! Your whole text is full of grammar errors!"

"As if you would know!" Hermione snorted. Ron instead laughed.

"Don't annoy her too much, Harry," he howled laughing. "She might stop helping us in our classes!"

"I don't need help in my classes, Ron," Harry answered shrugging. "And she _has_ written a lot of rubbish!"

"Harry!" Hermione stared at him angrily.

"No! Look, Hermione!" Harry retorted. "_And those druids the runes used are permanently differ from our use today _– what the hell are you trying to say with this sentence?!"

Hermione blinked. Of course she had heard Brezhoneg before. Her teacher had spoken it when she read out the runes. But Harry's accent was different. When Professor Babbling was reading the runes her wording was halting and she had to think about every word she was pronouncing carefully.

Sometimes Professor Babbling even gave them two or three possible pronunciations – simply because they had no way knowing how the druids had really pronounced their words.

Harry instead had been reading her sentence as if it was plain English. Not hawed, not searching for words… just reading.

"Harry, what…?" She stopped, unsure what she really wanted to say.

"What?" Harry asked as if nothing special had happened. "Still not convinced?"

This question finally let Hermione find her voice again.

"You… you have been reading runes, Harry!" She cried, still unable to comprehend what just happened.

"Yes…" Harry said slowly, now looking at her as if she was a wild tiger ready to strike.

"No-one is reading runes like that anymore!" Hermione tried to tell him. "You shouldn't be able… Professor Babbling is one of the best at Ancient Runes – and she still has to think about every word she is reading! How can you read it as if it was plain English?!"

Harry blinked at that and stared at her text again, then at her and finally again at her text. Then he shrugged.

"That doesn't matter, Hermione," Harry answered, shaking his head. "Your use of runes is way more important! How do you want to use them in magic when you are writing like that?!"

It took a moment to understand his question, and then Hermione looked at him with complete confusion in her eyes.

"Harry, you can't use runes for magic," she said. "They are useful to understand old texts – but they aren't used for any kind of magic."

When she finished her sentence, Harry sighed.

"Why, by wind and fire, do you think that runes can't be used in magic?!" He said, shaking his head again. Hermione opened her mouth to reply… she wasn't even sure what she wanted to say herself – just to be stopped by Harry who continued as if nothing happened.

"Well… let's fix your text and maybe later I will show you…" he finally said, adjusting her text so that he could read it better.

"This sentence I read before, what _do_ you want to say?" He asked.

Hermione stared at him, still astonished by his words, but she answered anyway.

"I wanted to write: And thus, the runes the druids used, are absolutely different than the ones we use today." She answered.

"So you mixed up _ehwaz _and _eihwaz _again," Harry said.

"Huh?"

"_Ehwaz," _he pointed at the rune in her text. "This has to be _eihwaz._ When you're writing the wrong rune here, the meaning changes and the 'thus' you want to write will change in 'those' – which you definitely don't want to write here."

"Huh?" Hermione looked down on her text, utterly flabbergasted.

"That can't be right, Harry," she finally said. "I am sure this word is pronounced like written with _ehwaz."_

"It is," Harry answered shrugging. "It's still written with _eihwaz, _though. It's just one of the exceptions."

"Exceptions? What exceptions?!" Hermione asked, now staring at Harry as if he was crazy. "There are no exceptions!"

"Does your class have something like a dictionary?" Harry asked sighing.

"Of course!" Hermione answered peeved.

"Then look it up."

She stared at him for another three minutes, and then she took out her runes-book and looked up the word. And there it stood in cold print – written with _eihwaz._

"How…?!"

"I told you it was written with _eihwaz,_" Harry just said, shrugging. "That's because it was once pronounced with it. So, let's change your sentence. Write: _And thus, the runes the druids used are absolutely different than the ones we use today."_

Hermione blinked again when he dictated her the sentence.

Finally she grabbed her quill again to write down what Harry had been dictating her.

"Stop!" Harry said when she wrote the first rune.

"Really, Hermione! You can't write runes like that! You will ruin your spell work!"

Hermione stared confused at her text while Ron now looked absolutely flabbergasted from one of his friends to the other.

"What am I doing wrong now, Harry?" Hermione finally asked.

"Your runes are sluggish," Harry answered, shaking his head. "You have to write them neat to use them for spell work."

"I am writing neat!" Hermione said coolly.

"No. You cannot change their outlining," Harry answered persistent. "They all have to fit in a square."

"What are you talking about, Harry?!"

The boy sighed and claimed the quill in Hermione's hand with his left. And then he wrote down the sentence beneath her own writing.

Hermione starred at the sentence.

She had to give it to Harry. When she compared her writing and his, hers was definitely sloppy and childlike. With Harry, every letter he used seemed to use the same space the others did – there was no difference, even if the letter itself consisted just of a few strokes.

"Wow, that's really, really neat, Harry," Hermione said, still looking at the written sentence. Harry just shrugged.

"It's the way it has to be, when you want to use them for magic," he answered. "You should learn to write them properly like that."

Hermione still stared at the parchment in front of her.

"I doubt I will be able to write like that, Harry," she finally said.

"Then use something to help you, like… like the Muggle-math notebooks or something like that."

"Harry – even if I don't write as neat as you do, I don't have to. You just use runes for old texts, they have no other use and so I don't have to…"

Harry sighed at that and took out his wand. Before Hermione could even finish her sentence, he drew a few runes in the air with it. The runes flashed, and suddenly the noise of the common room vanished. It was as if they suddenly were alone in the full room.

"Neat," Ron said. "What spell did you use, Harry?"

"No spell, Ron," Harry answered, stowing away his wand. "Runes."

Hermione gawked at him. Her gaze flew through the common room and the missing noise and returned to the wizard who did this.

"How?" She asked.

"I told you, you can use runes for magic," Harry answered shrugging. "It's a simple ward – something old family houses have. There is no equivalent in normal spell work."

"But… but…" Hermione stuttered. "But why didn't Professor Babblings tell us?!"

"Because using runes like that can be deadly if you do it wrong," Harry answered, suddenly serious. "Spells you can easily reverse – runes you can't. You have to disable their hold on you or you will never be able to escape them. If you write them sloppy or wrongly you will suffer for it – die for it if your spell work was a more complex one."

"Stop! What about the runes you used here?!" Ron asked suddenly fearfully. "You know… you know how to reverse them, do you?! I don't want to be deaf forever!"

"You're not deaf," Harry answered, rolling his eyes. "I just silenced this area. When you walk two feet this way…" he pointed to the crowed area of the room. "…you will be able to hear all of them again. The runes are not keeping you here, so the worst that could happen would be having a prank-plotting area in the middle of the common room. Nothing grave.

And don't worry. I know how to un-spell the area again. I also did nothing wrong because I can write runes and I know my grammar – so no danger here."

"Neat," was Ron's reply, while he stood up and walked two feet to his right until he left the silenced area and returned. "Absolutely neat – can you teach me, Harry?!"

"I don't think I can," Harry answered. "You need a lot of knowledge beforehand to even try to cast anything simple. You do not learn it over night."

"Well, you seem to have just done that," Hermione said, looking at him strangely. "When exactly _did_ you learn this?!"

Harry grinned and shrugged.

"A long time ago," he answered. "A really long, long time ago."

For a moment, Hermione hesitated and Harry could again see the suspicion in her eyes. He returned her gaze evenly, his eyes promising her that if she even dared to go to Dumbledore with this, it would be the last time ever that she would be able to call herself 'friend'. Hermione's eyes widened, then she snorted.

"Very funny, Harry," she said, choosing to ignore the unexplainably of Harry's talent. "And now tell me who taught you this stuff to prank me."

At that Harry sighed.

"No one," he answered seriously. "I did not learn anything to prank you – I am in fact not pranking you at all. I thought you might want to have help."

Hermione stared at him with unbelieving eyes.

"Look – if you don't trust me, why don't you let me help you and afterwards go to someone else so that he or she can look it over," Harry suggested. "I am sure you know some older Gryffindors or even Ravenclaws that have taken Ancient Runes as well. They can tell you if my suggestions really sound totally wrong. Or go directly to the Professor if you don't trust their judgement. I don't mind this time around."

For a moment it looked as if Hermione did not want to do something like that, but then she nodded.

"Okay, help me. But if it's wrong then do never bother me again, deal?"

"Deal," Harry answered shrugging. He did not need to help her at all, but it was the perfect opportunity to set up his stage and he also had decided to try to kit the friendship with her a little bit. He knew that he did not involve her or Ron like the younger Harry had used to, so he had searched for a way to still be friends with them – even if they weren't his closest friends anymore…

Now he had just to wait until Hermione would show it to someone else – and Harry was pretty sure that she would go to the professor of Ancient Runes with it and not to some other student. Of course, she might even go to Dumbledore but Harry was sure that she wouldn't risk it for now. She was still collecting evidence about his changes – and maybe, just maybe, she would be able to accept that he was different without going to Dumbledore first. If she couldn't, Harry wasn't sure if her friendship was still worth it to hold on. He couldn't live with friends who spied on him for one of his enemies after all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

A day later, Professor Bathsheda Babbling had an interesting visitor after lunch.

"Miss. Granger," she greeted the young girl when said girl entered her office. "How may I help you?"

"Well…" the girl hesitated.

"Don't worry, just tell me," Bathsheda said and finally the girl stepped forward and showed her an essay.

"Could you look through it and tell me if the grammar is right, professor?" the girl asked and Bathsheda raised one of her eyebrows.

"You know I cannot…"

"No! It's just that you know most when it comes to ancient runes and while I was writing the essay for this class someone saw it and corrected my grammar but… but I don't know if I can trust his advice because I… well, because I thought he knows nothing about ancient runes…"

Bathsheda frowned when she heard the girl's explanation but still took the essay. The first thing she noted was that the style of the essay was completely different. While Hermione Granger did know her runes she still wrote in a style a young child would use. The grammar in this essay was more complex and more correct then anything Bathsheda had ever seen produced by a student.

"Do you have something that is written by this mystical person?" Bathsheda finally asked the girl. Hermione Granger turned to her schoolbag and started to look through it. Finally she handed Bathsheda another parchment, this time written by someone completely different. Bathsheda could see the difference without even trying to. While Hermione Granger did write neat – the person who had written the sentences on the other parchment did write even neater. Hermione Granger's letters looked like something produced by a child when you compared them both.

"He told me that I write like a baby," Hermione Granger declared in that moment. "He also told me that I would be unable to ever use those runes in magic when I don't learn to write neat."

Bathsheda blinked and looked at the girl in front of her.

"I would like to meet this mysterious person," she said finally.

"So… so the grammar is correct?" the girl asked hesitating.

Bathsheda snorted. "More than correct. I would say absolutely perfect, not even a master can write like that. That's the style used in books that are centuries old. I never thought a student would ever be good enough to even come near something like that. Normally it takes decades to write neat and grammatically good enough to write like your friend. When he's really as good as it looks like I really need to speak with him. Someone with so much talent should pursuer ancient runes."

Hermione Granger starred at her.

"He is really _that _good?" she asked astonished.

Bathsheda nodded.

"He could be a Rune Master in no time," she answered. "Whoever your friend is – I cannot belief he did not elect the subject in third year!"

The girl in front of her blinked.

"How do you know…?"

"I am sure I would have found him long ago if he had taken my class," Bathsheda answered. "Would you be so kind and tell him to come to me?"

"I… I will," the girl stuttered. Then she hesitated before she added, "thank you for checking my essay." And with that the girl left. Bathsheda's gaze followed her, while she tried to figure out who in this whole school knew so much in runes that it equaled her own knowledge – or even surpassed it…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Bathsheda got her answer just a few hours later. She was sitting in her office, trying to translate a text she had found in the library some weeks ago.

The text was old and written in runes and Brezhoneg. It was about transfigurations and Bathsheda was sure that it had information in it that Minerva McGonagall would steal for. The only problem Bathsheda had, was that the text was too complex for her to understand it fully.

She had translated the most of it but there were a lot of text passages she simply wasn't sure about. She sighed and put down the book again to close her eyes. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to translate the text fully.

In that moment the door to her office opened. Bathsheda looked up just to see Harry Potter coming in and closing the door softly behind him.

A warm red glow indicated a ward of some kind that fell into place when he closed the door.

"What…?" she started, but was interrupted by the boy himself.

"You wanted to see me, Professor," he said neutrally.

"Uh… I did?" she said, a little bit stumped.

"You asked Hermione Granger to send for me a few hours ago," the boy answered softly.

It took a moment to catch up for Bathsheda.

"So you are this mysterious person who has a better grasp for ancient runes than any other student I ever saw."

The boy shrugged and stepped forward to her desk.

Bathsheda smiled at him when she saw his interest in the book before her on the desk.

"I try to translate it for your Head of House," she told him. The boy said nothing but he turned the book in front of her to look at it. Bathsheda saw his eyes travel through the lines faster than her own could.

"Permanent transfiguration – a complicated subject you are translating there, Professor," the boy said.

"You can tell?" Bathsheda asked surprised. The boy in front of her snorted.

"I am able to read, Professor," he answered.

"But that's a really complicated text in runes…" Bathsheda said surprised. The boy just shrugged and turned her translation to also look through it.

"You have made some mistakes in there," the boy said.

Bathsheda looked at him startled and turned the texts so that she could read them.

"I do not think so…"

"Oh, but you have," the boy said. "Let me explain…"

The next half an hour Bathsheda learned more about Ancient Runes than she had ever before. The things the boy mentioned were startling but at the same time fitting. Suddenly the text she had been trying to comprehend for the last three weeks made absolute sense to her.

While the boy spoke, she took hastily written notes, promising herself that she would write them better later. The boy frowned when he saw her writing down her runes.

"You are also not writing neat," the boy said.

Bathsheda blinked at him in surprise and looked down on her notes.

"I just need to know what you said later," she told him. "There is no need to write neat."

The boy frowned again, clearly not agreeing in opinion but he said nothing and just continued.

Finally he stopped.

"You should try to translate the book with this information. I think that might be enough to understand everything," he declared.

Bathsheda looked down on her notes and back up to him.

"How do you know all that…?" she asked. "There is no-one that knows…"

"Family Magick," the boy answered. "I am not allowed to tell you."

_Family Magick._

Bathsheda was sure that the Family Magicks the boy was talking about weren't the runes itself but the comprehending he had for them. She had heard a lot about Family Magick before. Her family, the Babbling Family, and all the other traditional families had a kind of Family Magick. Normally it was a special ability that the family-members were born with.

She had heard about a lot of abilities that counted to Family Magicks. Because of that she knew of the fire-ability that once travelled through the line of Pendragon – or that's what the legends and myths of the Pendragon-line talked about. She knew that the Potter family had the ability to guide energy. Still, there were abilities not every family displayed. Some abilities were kept hidden – maybe like the ability that enabled the young Potter in front of her to understand the runes and the language they were written in so easily.

And it was this thought that led her to another idea.

"So you have the ability to understand texts like that easily?" she asked the boy.

Harry Potter nodded.

"Have you ever tried it with another language then Brezhoneg? Or with different runes?" this time the boy shrugged.

"Why should I?" he asked innocently.

"Well, I have an old, worn, black, leather book with faded green writing on it," the she answered. "I do not understand it and I have not found a way to translate it until now."

"And you wish for me to take a look at it," the boy concluded.

Bathsheda stared at Harry Potter. And there she had heard some of the other teachers complain that he did not pick up on things fast enough...

Instead of answering, she stood up and opened one of her cupboards. There the book she had lend from the library was stored in. Bathsheda had wanted to try to translate it but she had to stop at the first page. The writing of the book was extremely neat but the language used was no language known by her. She guessed it was an old dialect that had been forgotten long ago. To her dismay she had not found a starting point to understand it until now.

"I fear you also might not be able…" Bathsheda started, but stopped when Harry Potter took the book from her hands and started to leaf through it. He finally opened the book fully on one page, his finger traveling through the lines.

Bathsheda held her breath. _It would not be so easy – would it?!_

"Are… are you able to understand…?" Bathsheda asked the boy. Harry Potter looked up and in her eyes.

"I think I am," he answered. "But I must look at it more closely to be sure. Would you mind if I take it and try to translate it?"

Bathsheda stared at the boy in front of her. Several questions were filling her mind. How was he able to read what even she was unable to?! How could he understand runes without learning them before?! She knew he had been raised by his Muggle Aunt so there was no way he had learned to read runes at home – so how…?!

_Was it really just the Family Magick?!_

But before she could even utter one sentence, the boy's eyes pierced into her own. Something shifted in her mind and she started to forget what was so special about the book in the young boy's hands before her.

"May I take it?" He asked her and she found herself nodding the positive.

"Thank you."

And with that the boy left the room, leaving behind Bathsheda, who was still unable to comprehend, what exactly had happened. After all, the book the boy had taken was nothing special at all – so why bothering to ask her for it? It had been old, worn and strained, and some pages had gone missing. She had found it today between her other books and had thought to throw it away. And she would have put it in the waste bin if he wouldn't have taken it before…

_So why had he even bothered to ask for it?!_

Bathsheda would never know that her memory had been shifted that day so that the book was nothing special anymore in her mind at all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

That night, Harry and Regulus met in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Alright, I've got the book," Harry said. "I'll soon be able to work around the current wards to add my own ward for the Horcrux detection to them."

"So you didn't find its whereabouts in the castle when you did the ritual?" Reg asked concerned. Harry shook his head.

"Tommy interfered," he said, and Regulus blinked confused.

"Tommy?"

"Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord," Harry answered. "I don't think that he actually ever grew up enough to be a Tom, so I usually call him Tommy in my head…"

Reg raised an eyebrow at that.

"You're awfully interested in talking today," he remarked and Harry shrugged.

"I'm dying. I have the right to have some fun before I kick the bucket," he answered and immediately there was concern in Reg's eyes to see.

"What do you mean: 'You are dying?'!" he asked, his face rapidly losing colour. Harry just smiled at him.

"There's always a price to pay," Harry said. "The ritual on Hallowe'en basically went wrong – the consequences to something like that are always death or losing one's mind. Since I'm actually quite depended on my mind, I'm quite happy that I got the first consequences to deal with."

"And you choose to tell me that I'll lose you quite soon just like that? Without further warning in a single sentence?" Reg exclaimed in disbelieve. Harry just rolled his eyes.

"You and I know that you're just here with me because I'm about to kill off Tom. If I wouldn't, you wouldn't be there."

"You basically raised me from the moment you pulled me out of that lake! You are the one who's responsible that I'm a half-way decent human being now! Do you truly believe that I wouldn't care about you if you weren't about to kill the Dark Lord?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. Then he shrugged. "No," he said. "But it doesn't matter either way."

"You're dying and –"

"And I still have some time until it's truly something to be concerned about. I guess my death is at least half a year away – so may we return to more pressing matters now?"

Reg opened his mouth at that, but then just closed it.

"Alright," he gave in. "What do you think is more important than you dying?"

"I had a stint into Tommy's mind while I scared away the Dementors that he wanted to recruit," Harry answered. "I might not have found the location of the Hogwarts Horcrux – but I have a good guess about another one now…"

"And how did that happen?" Reg wanted to know and Harry grinned.

"Seems that even as a half insane ghost-like being I'm still capable of doing something usable," he said smirking. "When I used the rune connection I built between him and me to pull me to him, I got a short glance not only in his emotions and current plans, but into his past as well. Truly, if I had known how usable that damn rune-connection could be, I would have done a more thorough one than I did back then…"

"If you could do it – why didn't you?" Reg asked surprised and Harry grimaced.

"Because, truthfully, I'm quite happy that I can stay out of his mind for the most parts. I needed the connection to him to ensure that I have some warning before he acts and to manipulate him to some kind – but the connection can go both ways, and I definitely don't want to find a Dark Lord in my mind. My knowledge of the Dark Arts would make him to a nearly unstoppable opponent if he ever had access to it. I wouldn't risk it."

"Better so," Reg said gulping.

"My thoughts exactly," Harry said gravely. "Still – doesn't change my wish that it would be different, sometimes… Now, back to the knowledge I gained thanks to my involuntary visit at the Azkaban raid."

"So… what did you find out?" Reg asked sighing.

"I need some information about Tom Riddle's family, his Wizarding family, the Gaunts," Harry answered. "If I understood it right then he has hidden one of his Horcruxes at the old home of the Gaunt family."

"So you want me to collect that information?" Reg asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I can't leave here," Harry said shrugging.

"And I'm dead," Reg commented.

Harry grinned at that.

"Even more the reason for you to do it," he said. "There's no way that anybody will recognize you when you break into the Ministry –"

"And I thought that Augusta Longbottom was helping you now," Reg said sneering. "She's part of the Wizengamot. Can't you send her?"

"Well, I originally planned to send her to retrieve the information – but you seemed quite eager to do it yourself…" he answered grinning. "I wouldn't dare to object if you wish to do something more than to be my messenger to Augusta."

Reg snorted at that.

"So you send a dead man as a messenger?"

Harry shrugged at that.

"Dobby and Winky can't do it. I need someone who can do some research in the Muggle world, if we have to. Augusta knows nothing about the Muggle world and Dobby and Winky can't enter it without being obvious, I can't go since I'm a student here – so you're the only one left."

"Great!" Regulus exclaimed. "Just great! I've been 'dead' for over fifteen years – I am happy to be 'dead'! And now you send me to one of the members of the Wizengamot to work with! What about me being a happy 'dead'? I don't want to 'live' again!"

Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Don't complain, Reg. You knew for at least six years that you would return to the 'living' again sometime in the future. Your brother's free now, meaning that he might need someone to have his back when he takes on his true place as Lord Black. You're the only one who can support him, so it would be good for you to return slowly to the 'living' now."

"My brother hasn't even shown any interest in his lordship until now!" Reg said.

Harry just shrugged, but said nothing, so Reg continued agitated: "You and I know that he despises his family! He wouldn't even think about taking on the lordship of house Black now that he's free!"

"He wouldn't," Harry answered nodding. "And that's the reason why you have to meet Augusta and work with her. You have to build at least a working relationship, at best an alliance with her. Sirius won't be able to get out of his duties when Augusta presses for him to acknowledge the alliance. Not even Sirius is idiotic enough to refuse to acknowledge Augusta if she tells him that your families are allies."

"But Sirius is already free – I can't build any alliances with Augusta now that Black has a lord again –"

"But that's it," Harry said, grinning. "Black doesn't have a lord yet. Like you said, Sirius refuses to be lord. As long as he refuses, his heir has still the right to build alliances. And since I'm now allied with Augusta, she won't take long to express an interest of alliance with you – especially if I am the one to send you to her in the first place. It's only logical, after all, to be allied with the allies of your allies."

For a moment, Reg remained silent. Then he sighed.

"And you decided to wait to do that until now – why?"

"Because I still needed a reason to start an alliance – and that reason was just provided by Tom a few days ago," Harry grinned at that.

"The Horcrux's search outside of Hogwarts!" Regulus said, surprise in his voice.

"The Horcrux's search outside of Hogwarts," Harry repeated content, and Regulus closed his eyes and groaned.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Moody sat down silently. All around him the rest of the Order of the Phoenix was talking among themselves while they waited for their leader to arrive.

The only one who wasn't even interested in conversation was Alastor Moody.

He was thinking.

In his mind the words of Harry Potter – no, Harryjames Potter – repeated all over again.

Albus Dumbledore could have stopped Grindelwald before the man even would have truly started – by simply opening his mouth.

Albus Dumbledore could have stopped Voldemort before he even turned dark if he just had decided to act instead of watching.

But those weren't the worst parts.

"He calls you his right hand man, one of his closest friends," Harryjames had said. "And yet, you were locked into your own trunk without him even noticing the difference for a whole year."

When Moody had been freed, he had originally never blamed Albus Dumbledore. Now instead, this sureness had ceased to exist.

Albus had known him for over sixty years. They had worked together, travelled together – and yet Albus had noticed nothing strange over the last year?!

"Or he noticed it and decided to use it to his benefits, never even thinking about your predicament," a voice that sounded suspiciously like Harryjames' whispered in his head. "He's manipulative. You know that. You've adored that in the past. Do you truly think that he wouldn't have used the opportunity if it had presented itself to him?"

Moody figured that the most horrible part of those thoughts wasn't that Albus was a manipulative bastard – Moody had suspected that for years. No, the most horrible part was that Moody finally knew that Albus Dumbledore would do everything to reach his ultimate goal – and if it meant to damn a fifteen-year-old boy and his right hand man, so be it.

Moody wasn't sure if he could accept that.

In that moment, Albus entered and Moody forced his thoughts to return to the present. It was time to talk about guard-duties and possible plans of the dark lord.

"I wonder why we have never included Harryjames Potter into these meetings," Moody mused. "They are about him, after all. Shouldn't he at least know about the danger he's in and what we do to stop it from reaching him?"

But maybe those thoughts were just fueled by the desperate need for another Slytherin – Snape definitely didn't count in Moody's eyes – in this ocean of Gryffindors the Order consisted of.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tom Riddle, by the Wizarding World mostly known as 'Lord Voldemort', was currently in a bad mood. The reason was his new ally, Anastasius Sanguini, Head of Cruoris Coven of the vampires.

"So, that's what you're doing all day long? Sitting around and waiting for nothing?" The vampire said with interest in his voice before looking around the ball room they were currently inhabiting. The room was empty except of them and two other Death Eaters. Even Lucius Malfoy, the Head of the family whose manor they were currently using, had found a way to be anywhere but at the Dark Lord's side. Not that other Death Eaters could fault him for that. Their Lord had been in a fool mood since the raid on Azkaban and the refusal of the Dementors to join their alliance.

Since then, Tom Riddle had used his days to search ancient tomes for the odd occurrence he had witnessed in Azkaban. He had long since rebutted that the appearance had anything to do with his nemesis Potter – after all, every Death Eater with a child at Hogwarts could affirm that the boy was firstly, still at Hogwarts, and secondly, very much alive – and had since then tried to find out what had scared away one of his best possible allies in this coming war.

Until now, he hadn't found an answer to that at all…

"Isn't it a bit… dreary… to sit here all day watching an empty room?" the vampire asked in that moment. His voice ripped Tom Riddle out of his musing and the dark lord looked up irritated. The vampire's face wasn't even an inch away from his own face, studying him closely.

Voldemort snarled, whipped out his wand and aimed it at his opponent.

"_Crucio!"_

The spell flew through the room, hitting one of his two Death Eaters instead of the vampire he had been aiming at. The vampire himself had sidestepped the curse without even breaking a sweat.

Now, he was watching the Death Eater who had been hit writhing on the floor in agony.

Then he turned back to look at the dark lord.

"Don't you think that it's a bit counterproductive to torture your allies without a reason? It might make it a little bit harder to gather new ones if your treatment of your current ones comes out into the open," the vampire commented, his eyes still glued in fascination on the twitching form of the Death Eater.

The other Death Eater looked at the one on the floor and then fled the room.

Voldemort instead roared with agitations after listening to the vampire's comment.

"No need to go berserk on me," the vampire said, turning his eyes back towards the dark lord. "I was just saying…"

Voldemort took aim at the vampire again.

"_Crucio!"_

This time, he hit the candelabra.

The vampire's gaze followed the spell and both, dark lord and vampire, watched the candelabra first swinging dangerously before crashing to the floor.

"I'm also not too sure if your allies take it too kindly if you are that careless with their property," Anastasius commented dryly.

The dark lord turned his furious red eyes towards the loud mouthed vampire. His wand again took aim.

The vampire watched it warily.

"You sure you want to do another spell?" he asked. "What if you bring down the manor around us this time around? You don't seem too good at aiming, after all…"

The furious roar this time around could be heard all over the manor and its grounds.

Lucius Malfoy shivered in his study. Since that damn vampire had joined their ranks, the dark lord had been even more often in a dark mood.

Sometimes, Lucius dearly regretted the day Anastasius Sanguini had joined the Death Eaters. Sometimes Lucius regretted that he himself had joined. And sometimes he regretted dearly that he had offered his home to house the dark lord…

In this moment, another crash could be heard from the hall.

"I told you, your aim is off," the vampire could be heard. "Or did you actually want to hit your Death Eater so that he crashes into the antique crockery? I doubt that neither your host nor your target will be happy with the outcome you had here…"

Yes, there were definitely days that made Lucius regret every decision he had ever made concerning the dark lord. And today was one of these days.

"Luckily, it's one of the last ones," Lucius thought. He didn't want to replace his whole manor – and if Anastasius Sanguini wouldn't stop to irk the dark lord soon, it was more than likely that that was the final outcome for whoever would be unfortunate to house those two in the future…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry was walking down to dinner when he saw the fifth year Slytherins coming from the dungeons.

"Perfect," he said to himself, before wandering over to them to intercept before they reached the Great Hall. He had not been planning the whole thing until now, but he guessed that he could get started on it today without any problems. And if Hermione complained – well, it had been her who had asked him to do it in the first place. She couldn't fault him for actually taking his new task seriously, could she?

Harry guessed she couldn't, so he was safe. With that thought he pulled out his wand and wrote some runes into the air. A second later they flashed golden and vanished. That took Harry as his cue to approach the fifth year Slytherins.

"I know this is not the usual way for Gryffindors to act," Harry started, looking at the Slytherins in front of him. "But I also know that you are also suffering under the teaching methods of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. So I will ask you anyway."

"Ask us what?" Malfoy asked. It was clear that the blond heir was still the spokesman of the fifth year Slytherins like he had been since first year.

"I'm here to ask you to join the defence association me and my friends are forming. It could be beneficial for you as well, considering that you like us have to pass OWL's at the end of the year," Harry answered.

Malfoy sneered at that.

"And why would we need to join your… defence association?" he asked unimpressed.

"Because, if you like it or not, you will have trouble passing your defence OWL if you don't get some training in actually casting the spells you should be learning this year. The defence association could help you with that, if you join."

"And why should we even think about joining something a Gryffindor has initiated?" Another Slytherin, Theodore Nott asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry just shrugged.

"Because I offered and you are Slytherins, meaning you take an advantage if you get it," he answered. "I'm currently the best in defence of year five. It would be… totally un-Slytherin to not even think about my offer."

At that, Theodore Nott and some others snorted.

"You truly think that you can keep it from Umbridge?" Blaise Zabini asked. "You truly think that it will stay a secret if you ask people in the corridors of Hogwarts willy-nilly?"

"Why not?" Harry answered grinning. "It's not as if I haven't been able to keep things from the teachers before while still talking out here in the open…"

Theodore Nott just shook his head at that.

"Recklessness," he said and others nodded at that.

That was the moment, Malfoy decided to re-enter the conversation.

"And how will you stop _us _from talking about your plans to Umbridge, now that we know of them?" He said. Harry just smiled.

"I don't need to stop you," he answered. "You were already stopped before I even talked to you."

Malfoy snorted.

"Sure thing, Potter," he said disbelieving.

"So you don't believe me," Harry said, then he shrugged. "Well, we'll see who's right in the end. Just think about my offer, will you?"

And with that he turned away from them with the intention to enter the Great Hall. It was Malfoy's voice that stopped him in his tracks.

"Whatever you try to do, Potter, it will not succeed. Just leave it be – when you don't you might regret it!" He hissed.

Harry just raised an eyebrow at the boy in front of him.

"Regret what?" He asked and turned back towards the Slytherins.

"Regret your try to turn us against the Dark Lord!" Malfoy answered. "And don't you dare to tell me that _that _wasn't your intention from the start!"

Harry just shrugged.

"Not truly," he said and Malfoy snorted. So Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at the boy in front of him.

"Don't tell me that you truly want to follow 'The Dark Lord'?" He asked incredulously.

"Of course!" Malfoy hissed. "Why shouldn't we?" The other Slytherins meanwhile looked at each other with hesitation in their eyes.

Harry acted as if he hadn't seen it and focused on Malfoy instead. It seemed like it was time for a little teaching...

"Then you want to be a bigoted idiot who is licking the boots of a half-blood?" He asked the boy in front of him. "And I thought you are a Slytherin."

"I _am_ a Slytherin!" Malfoy hissed and Harry saw the other Slytherins from higher years beside him turning to them. They clearly had started to listen. Harry smirked inwardly. Perfect.

"You are?" He asked, seemingly astonished. "And I thought a true Slytherin is clever, cunning and ambitious. What is ambitious about being a boot-licker? What is clever about following a mere mud-blood blindly in your demise? What is cunning about letting you be branded like a cow or a slave? No! You don't sound like a Slytherin to me. You sound like a coward."

As an answer Malfoy hurled a borderline dark spell at him. Harry just smirked and reached with his bare hand for the magic. The spell changed its direction and started to dance together with Harry's fingers. Then Harry took the light into his hand and it vanished without a trace.

The Slytherins around him stared at him.

"A Slytherin knows to use every situation for his advantage. He knows when to show his strength and when to hide it," Harry said softly. "He would never start a fight against someone he does know nothing about." And with that Harry rose his other hand. Golden runes glowed on the floor and in the next second Malfoy was imprisoned in a golden cage out of light.

The Malfoy-heir stared at him, the fear clearly visible in his eyes. Harry just looked at him for a moment, then he banished the light-cage and left the boy unharmed.

"What…?" Malfoy asked clearly baffled about Harry's actions.

"A Slytherin knows when it's time to humiliate his opponent and when it's time to leave it be," Harry said. "You are clearly a strong wizard, Draco Malfoy. As a Slytherin, I know that having you on my side would be more advantageous then having you as an opponent. Think about it. I even might teach you some tricks like those I showed you today."

And with that Harry turned and left the Slytherins stand where they were.

Malfoy stared after him.

"You are no Slytherin!" He finally cried just before Harry could vanish around a corner. Harry stopped and turned. Then he smirked.

"But I am," he answered smiling widely. "I would have been sorted into Slytherin if I hadn't begged the Sorting Hat not to."

"But… why?" another Slytherin asked with huge eyes.

Harry smirked.

"Because no one would ever suspect to find a snake in a lion's fur," and with that he vanished around the corner.

Only time would tell if his little stunt had changed his standing in the eyes of Slytherin. Harry was quite sure that it had. The Slytherins would come to his defence association – if it was for his words or the display of his power, Harry would see. The most important thing was their involvement, and that was something that he had ensured today...

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Cornelius Fudge took a deep breath, then he opened the meeting of the Wizengamot. He had asked for the meeting just a few days ago and unlike normally, he had insisted on the Wizarding Wireless to join them.

"Today, I'm here to speak to you about a grievous matter," he said. "Unfortunately I've become aware of an approaching threat to our ways of life. A threat which will destroy everything we love if we don't stop it now when it's still easily stoppable!"

He could see that he now had the attention of every member of the Wizengamot as well as the attention of the reporter of the Wizarding Wireless. Fudge was quite sure that he had the attention of the rest of the Wizarding World as well.

"I am talking about a liar and a disturbance for our peaceful ways of life!" he continued. "I'm talking about someone who's trying to bring the public to go against their government! If we don't do something soon, this man, this disturber of peace, will bring down our society with all the lies he's sprouting!"

This time he could see the concerned gazes that were exchanged between the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot.

"I am talking about someone who is able to deceive the common man with sweet sounding words and false promises! A man who doesn't mind to use even the most reputable business to reach his shady goals," he continued while basking in the attention. "I am talking about Oliver Twist."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. Sorry it took so long, college, you know. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	44. Chapter 43: Ready To Kill Target Two

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_I'm sorry it took so long. I was in Japan on holiday and because of that unable to write for some time._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Ready To Kill Target Two?**

sss

"Albus, I need to talk to you," Moody said sighing after their usual meeting of the Order of the Phoenix ended.

"Of course, my friend," Albus Dumbledore answered, but Moody still waited until the kitchen in Grimmauld Place was empty before even thinking about continuing.

"Well, my friend, what troubles you?" Moody frowned at that inwardly. Did Dumbledore truly think of him as a friend – or was he just a weapon, ready for use? Until now, Moody had never distrusted Dumbledore's friendship, but there were some questionable things in the past now that couldn't be explained with a laugh and a wink. And unlike before, Harryjames Potter had opened Moody's eyes for them…

"There are some… rumours, I want to talk about," Moody finally said and the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes creased to exist.

"Rumours?" he asked, sounding a little bit concerned. "New ones?"

"Yes," Moody sighed.

"Well – what did the Ministry come up this time around?" Dumbledore said resigned and Moody felt nearly bad for starting with the words he had – but then, it was the easiest explanation.

"There are rumours about you joining the fight with Grindelwald late," he said anyway, watching Dumbledore's face closely. "Rumours that you refused to do anything before he was at the height of his power."

At that, Dumbledore's cheerful face twisted into a grimace before smoothing out again.

"It seems that the Malfoy family is at its peak again," he said sighing and Moody frowned.

_Malfoy?_

_Why Malfoy?_

"Why do you think it's the Malfoys, Albus?" he asked half-confused and half-afraid that Harryjames Potter had gained that information from an unreliable source.

"Because it's always them and the Blacks accusing me of having done nothing in the war with Grindelwald," Dumbledore answered.

Moody raised an eyebrow at that.

"The Malfoy family and the Blacks accuse you of Grindelwald's reign?" He asked disbelieving.

Dumbledore just sighed.

"It's actually more the Malfoire family and not their British branch," Dumbledore corrected. "But in the end – yes, they and the Blacks do. It's not even truly explainable. We've worked well together the day we brought down Grindelwald. Your father would have told you the same if he had survived that day."

Moody frowned at that.

He himself had been a ten year old child back then – a child who had adored Albus Dumbledore because his mother and father seemed to do the same. Of course he had heard about the battle in which his father had died. Moody had wanted to be exactly like his dad back then and because of that had done everything to be not seen as a child but a friend by Albus Dumbledore like his father had been…

And yet, it hadn't been Albus who had told his mother about his father's death.

"I've never found out how my father died that day," Moody said nearly silently, averting his eyes to hide the truth from Albus all-knowing stare, and Albus smiled at him a sad smile at that.

"He died a hero, my friend," Albus Dumbledore said.

"_I'm sorry, he died protecting me while I was trying to get my cousin to safety_," the tired voice of a dirty and grim man in rags echoed through Moody's mind – a voice he remembered from when he was ten. It had been the worst day in his life back then – and yet, it had shown him exactly what a man his father had been. _"We had planed ahead… but there were complications and…"_

"_It didn't go as planed,"_ another tired and haggard man said when the first one couldn't say anything anymore. "_I was too late to shield him. In the end, it's my fault that he died."_

"But he knew that we had to stop Grindelwald," Dumbledore continued. "In the end, he died willingly for the Greater Good."

Alastor Moody had known Albus Dumbledore for his whole life. He knew that his mother and father had loved the man as a good friend – one of their best friends. And yet, Alastor Moody remembered the day he heard about his father's death as the day Albus Dumbledore, hero and defeater of Grindelwald, hadn't been there to comfort his mum.

"_He's a busy man right now,"_ his mother had said with a shaky voice. "_He must be exhausted._" And Alastor had believed her because Albus Dumbledore had always been a good friend of his parents, a good man, and Alastor had hero-worshiped him long before the day he defeated Grindelwald.

And yet, there had been two men on their doorstep the same day his father died – ragged, dead on their feet and yet determinated to tell his mother what had happened to her husband – and now, fifty years later Moody wondered suddenly why Albus Dumbledore hadn't come that day when the heir of House Black had found the time to do so…

"The wizarding world was rejoicing that day," Dumbledore mused, lost in his memory. "It was a great day for wizarding Europe. I'm sure your father would have loved to see that his sacrifice ensured our victory…"

"And yet you don't even know how he died," Moody thought to himself and his respect of Albus Dumbledore fell a little bit more. "You have no idea how the man you called one of your best friends actually died."

_Moody would have wanted to know if it had been his…_

"I still don't understand how the Blacks and Malfoires think that you could have done more that day," Moody grumbled.

Albus Dumbledore sighed.

"The Head of Malfoire back then… was a very… driven man," he said. "He was allied with the Blacks and some others like the Princes. There were also some other wizard families from all over Europe part of his group like the Delacours from France and the Aichingers from Germany. He and his allies entered the battle with Grindelwald unprepared and never forgave me for saving them." Albus Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "They were just minutes from total annihilation, yet refused to see it even after we saved them. Pride, I guess."

Then Albus smiled at Moody again.

"Don't worry about those rumours," he said. "Like I said, the Malfoires hold a grudge. I'm quite sure it will blow over within a few days. It's old news, after all."

Moody nodded.

"Alright, Albus," he said. "Whatever you say."

With that, he left.

"Delacours, huh?" he thought to himself. He knew the old head of Delacours. The man had also been a good friend of his father and like with Dumbledore, Moody had basically grown up with the man. "Seems that I have to ask the old man what he has to say to the battle of Grindelwald…"

And unlike ever before, Moody was ready to listen to the old man and his ramblings about 'Sal Sanctuary' and 'Mad Marius' – two names Moody had heard in the past from the old man's lips but never truly taken for truth…

"I'll also have to talk to Potter," Moody mused. "I need to know where he got that information…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The Leaky Cauldron was full of people. They all were discussing in hushed voices the Minister's speech.

"D'you truly think tha' the minister was righ'?" one of the regulars said in that moment. "Twist – a disturber of peace?"

Another man snorted at that.

"Na. We all know that the Minister's always been talking a lot of humbug," he answered the regular.

"Can't believe he's goin' against a lad," an old witch said harshly. "He should be ashamed of himself!"

"He should!" others agreed darkly.

"Can't imagine where he got that liar bit from," Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron added. "I verified a lot of his articles. No lie there."

"Yeah – and didn' th' Ministry jus' now say tha' tha' fellow Twist was talkin' 'bout an' askin' 'bout his missin' trial, ya know, Black, was actually innocen'?" another man said frowning. "They basic'ly proofed tha' boy righ' an' now he's called a _liar_?!"

Tom sighed at that.

"An' that article 'bout Riddle, ye know, that interestin' one," another witch said, her eyes lighting up with delight. "I even went an' looked into it – he's righ'! Ye know! Righ'! Can't imagine he's lied with the others if he did his research in that one!"

In that moment, Xeno Lovegood entered.

"I've got a special edition, Tom," he said. "Twist asked me to do it after yesterday's Wizarding Wireless speech of the Minister."

Immediately the whole room turned to Lovegood.

"Well – where is it?" one of them asked when Xeno unpacked his bag not fast enough for the waiting crowed.

Xeno blinked a little bit confused at the man who had asked him before turning to Tom.

"The usual number of Quibblers?" he asked.

Tom looked at the shark-eyes of the men and women behind Xeno which where watching said man like predators their pray.

"Er… how many you've got in your bag there, Xeno?" he asked a little bit nervously when the shark-eyes of the crowd lit up in an unholy light, their gaze fixed on the newspapers in unsuspecting Xeno's hands.

Said man looked at him confused.

"About the treble of what I normally give you," he said.

Tom's gaze trailed to the predators behind Xeno. He gulped.

"Give them all to me," he said, nearly begging. "I'm sure I'll be able to sell them somehow…"

The gaze of the unholy shark-eyes met his.

Tom gulped again.

"I'm sure I will…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Just a day after the Slytherin incident, Hermione found Harry in the common room, writing on a parchment. To his left sat an oddly old looking book. But that book was closed and Harry was writing.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Harry looked up just to see Hermione standing behind him.

"I am planning," he answered unconcerned.

Hermione frowned.

"Planning?"

"You told me yourself that we need someone else to teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry answered. "You even tried to rope me in teaching you."

"Yes, but…"

"Well, I decided that I will do the teaching," Harry interrupted her. Hermione stared at him, and then she squealed and hugged him.

"I knew you would come around!" she cried happily.

"Yes… 'Mione… breath," Harry coughed while he desperately tried to get some air in his lungs.

"Oh, sorry!" Hermione exclaimed and let him go. Instead she turned to his papers.

"So… what are you planning exactly?"

"Lessons," Harry answered. "And a way to communicate."

"Well, the last one I could help you with," Hermione said and then explained to him everything about the coins she had been preparing. Harry was impressed.

"So, what lessons are you planning to teach?" Hermione asked.

Harry just shrugged.

"I thought about some basics first," he answered. "Shields and disarming mostly. Maybe a simple ward or two. After that some light curses like stunning and so on. You know, fourth year and upwards stuff. I have also some deadly ones on my list for later."

"Deadly?!" Hermione stared at him. "Harry – you are teaching defense…"

"And sometime you can only defend someone by killing another one," Harry answered. "I am not willing to teach those children that there will never be a time when they might have to kill – because with Riddle out there, there might be a time when they have to kill to survive. When I teach them I will not stop teaching them stuff just because someone thinks they should not learn it."

"But killing…" Hermione hesitated. "Isn't… isn't that part of the Dark Arts?"

Harry shrugged. He was not willing to tell Hermione that a lot of spells he had chosen for his lessons would have been libeled dark today – if they were remembered, that is. Harry knew from experience that there was no real dark or light magic – there was just magic. And he wasn't willing to let anyone be in danger because he stopped teaching at a barrier the law had built because of stupidly.

"They're no nasty ones," he said. "And I chose them as a last resort for the others. I don't want them to learn killing – I want them to learn surviving. And sometimes you cannot survive without killing your enemy first."

"But still…"

"Hermione!" he stopped her before she could protest. "This is something that has to be. I cannot teach them stunners and let it be. They will die if there is no way for them to absolutely stop Death Eaters. I will not teach them spells to maim or something like that – and I know the ones I am teaching them could kill! The thing that they could but don't have to. I plan on teaching them spells to harm a person so that said person will not stand up again! This is not trying to teach them killing – this is trying to teach them surviving!"

"But Dumbledore…"

"…might have good intentions but definitely is not right about this, Hermione. As cruel as it sounds: the lives of the helpless come first. I will not teach anyone to kill unnecessarily, but I also don't want them to hesitate. Those that cannot protect themselves have to come first – and Death Eaters are last. That's war. I will not tell them otherwise."

"But, Harry – Dumbledore says that Death Eaters could regret…"

"They could," Harry answered irritated with the girl. "But I am not interested in someone that maybe will regret. My first goal is to stop Death Eaters from killing or maiming other students. If they have to die to be stopped – so may it be."

"That… that sounds cruel," Hermione said nervously. "And Dumbledore and my parents, they all say that killing is…"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted the girl. "Do you still have a grandpa?"

"Huh?" uncomprehending, Hermione nodded. "Uh, yes."

"How old is he?"

"Uh… eighty-six."

"So he might have fought in World War Two," Harry said. "Just ask him if he has and ask him if he has killed or if he knows someone that has. And then ask him why. I am sure that he will tell you because 'he had to'. He was a soldier and soldiers die and kill. The students I will teach might not be soldiers – but they also will have the same choice one day. As long as Tom Riddle still exists there will be no peace and as long there is no peace there will be the need to defend yourself. I will not let anyone be killed because I did not teach them that there might be the possibility of killing someone or of dying yourself. I will not be_ that_ cruel to them."

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree, but then she just turned and stormed off. Harry knew that she had not taken well what he had said to her, but he also was sure that she would see reason.

She might be a little authority-loving but she still was not someone that did not do their research first – and when Harry was right she would do as suggested and write her grandpa. And maybe the old man would see it like Harry did…

And even if not… Harry shrugged and turned back to his work. He would not stop with his plan. He knew that some things were more important then the feelings of a single person – and he would not let die the others just because one person could not see reason. He was after all not Dumbledore, caught in the net of the greater good and without the ability to look out for anything else except of his own beliefs…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tom Marvolo Riddle, to the world known as the feared Dark Lord Voldemort, was seething with anger.

The reason for it?

A single vampire who had decided to inhabit his throne room in Malfoy Manor.

Said vampire – one Anastasius Sanguini – was currently taking a lot of pleasure in quoting one well known article of Oliver Twist to the raging Dark Lord. Well, at least the article had been well known for the rest of the wizarding world – Voldemort had tried hard to forget it, after all…

"_The only one who ever handed out the killing-curse like sweets in the last decades was You-Know-Who,"_ Anastasius said in that moment, stopping and looking up from his reading – and he truly had to look up, considering he was hanging upside down in the candelabra. "You know," he mused absentmindedly. "This nearly sounded like a comparison with Dumbledore… isn't he famous for handing out sweets to everyone?"

Voldemort hissed with fury at that and aimed his wand at the vampire. Sadly enough, like every other curse he had tried to use on his new ally, the curse didn't hit his target who had ducked out of the way as if it was a play.

The vampire cackled.

"Just asking," he said amused. "No need to get grumpy!"

Then a thoughtful frown showed on the face of the vampire.

"Still," he said. "It's oddly fitting, isn't it? Dumbledore hands out candy and you copy him by handing out curses…"

After that musing the vampire had to vacate his spot for some minutes since there was a firework of spells hitting the candelabra.

He simply changed the candelabra and hung from the other, clearly not concerned with the spells that had nearly hit him.

"Don't worry," he said instead. "Your style of clothing is totally different. There's no way to confuse you two…"

Again, Voldemort aimed at the vampire and fired.

The spells hit the candelabra and just a daring jump saved the vampire when the candelabra he had been on crashed to the floor.

"I guess the Head Malfoy will have to redecorate his manor the moment you leave," the vampire mused. "I don't think that magic will simply fix this mess…" The vampire looked thoughtfully from his perch on the other one at the shattered and smoking candelabra on the floor.

"This looks like nasty dark magic," he commented. "Nope, definitively not fixable…"

Then his eyes returned to the newspaper in his hands and they lightened up in unholy fire.

"Oh! There! I bet you will like this one!" He exclaimed joyfully. "Listen! '_So the first fact I have to tell you is that the man who brought war on us until he was stopped by Harry Potter – was a lying coward. I cannot fathom how any respectable pure-blood can follow someone who cowardly hides behind a false name'."_

The vampire cackled again.

"But it gets better here where he calls you actually a '_mudblood'_, you know?" The vampire crowed. "Well, '_uneducated mudblood'_ actually…"

Voldemort growled at that and took again aim at the vampire who was transfixed with the article.

"You know," the vampire mused. "I actually think Twist has a point here… '_no pure-blood lord would follow a half-blood who rejects the old name of Gaunt just to spout of a secondary name (even if it's more famous) like Slytherin who's family first carried a lordship years after the Gaunts.' _Yeah, that sounds about right, you know? I mean. Slytherin is a well and good name, but compared to Gaunt – ah, well –"

The vampire stopped at that moment to dance through some curses that were flying towards him from the Dark Lord's wand.

"But then, you don't seem to know how to be a guest either, meaning you must have truly grown up uneducated. I mean, destroying the ball room just because you don't like the décor – that's nothing a proper guest should do…"

And with a cackle the vampire rescued himself from another salve of spells aimed at him by the enraged Dark Lord.

Lucius Malfoy meanwhile stood in the shadows and watched.

"I guess, the vampire has a point," Narcissa said in that moment. She was standing and watching next to him. "Riddle is absolutely uneducated in our ways." She sneered at that before turning.

"I want him out by the Wizengamot meeting in January, love," she said coolly. "And don't forget to bill Riddle for _my_ ball room, vases and furniture, will you, dear?"

Lucius sighed at that, not daring to object his enraged wife. She had loved the décor of the ball room and had stopped to call the man anything with 'Lord' the moment the man had destroyed her precious vase from Egypt.

"Lucius!" Riddle hissed in that moment and Lucius sighed again before stepping out of his hiding place.

"Yes, R… My Lord?" He asked.

"I want your son to look out for this Twist! Do you understand?" Voldemort hissed. "I want to know everything about him! And ensure that he will succeed, because you don't want to live if he doesn't, am I clear?"

Lucius gulped nervously at that.

"Y… yes, my Lord!" He stuttered.

That was the moment the vampire crowed happily at something he read.

"Oh! Listen! Listen! Listen!" He howled with gleaming eyes. "_And a ban on Riddle will be a hard thing to add – after all, it's such a common word… _This will be extremely hard to circumvent if people follow that advice!"

He cackled.

"What will you do if they do? Will you change your name to Dark Lord Riddle?" And with that Voldemort's attention returned to his tries to hit the vampire with a curse.

Lucius turned and left.

_Riddle – indeed._

Lucius would quite happily follow Twist in that motion.

But then…_ 'a ban on Riddle will be a hard thing to add – after all, it's such a common word…' – _Twist had truly been right in that regard…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Blaise Zabini didn't know what to think when he and his mother were brought a simple room. There were some leather chairs and a desk out of dark wood. The room had no windows and the walls were covered by the same dark wood the desk was made of.

The floor was made of stone and candles were the only light in the room. Behind the desk was a simple crest displayed.

He heard his mother inhale sharply when she saw the crest.

"Mother?" he asked frowning and she turned to him, her eyes wide with excitement and fear.

"It seems that your Regent already knows who is asking you for an alliance, Lord Zabini," a cool voice stated and Blaise turned around fast – just to see a boy his age entering the room. Cool green eyes met his startled brown.

The boy rounded them and the desk and sat down in the chair behind it.

"Let me tell you the deal," he said.

Blaise listened.

He saw his mother frown at the conditions of the family. Blaise instead heard something different all together. He knew that the most people of Slytherin were bound to go to the Dark Lord. They saw it as their highest quest to follow the Dark Lord. Blaise, like the Greengrasses and Theodore Nott was not truly interested in following a mad man – and the man was mad, whatever Blaise's mother said about it.

So hearing that if he followed the Grand Family he actually was forbidden to enter the Dark Lord's service…

"I am sorry, my Lord, but my son and I –" his mother started to say in that moment and Blaise suddenly knew that she was basically trying to take the choice from him before he could even think about answering different.

"I accept," he said. He didn't care that he had no idea which family he was joining, because unlike his mother he didn't recognize the crest, but he also didn't care. This was his ticket out of the trap he had found himself into since his father died.

"I humbly accept your proposition, my Lord," Blaise repeated and his mother frowned at him.

"Blaise," she started to say but the first time since his father died Blaise dared to look her in the eye.

"No, mother," he said coolly. "I am the Lord. It is my decision. And I have decided."

She opened her mouth; then closed it again when Blaise spoke up again.

"If you don't want to follow my decision I will evict you from my House," he told her coolly. "Don't worry, I don't adore Dumbledore or anything like that – but I will take this chance even if it goes against your wishes."

His mother's frown deepened at that, but in the end, she bowed her head.

"As you wish," she said – not that she had had a choice in that matter. Even killing Blaise wouldn't have changed the fact that House Zabini would now be allied with the upcoming Grand Family, after all. The moment Blaise as the Lord of the House had accepted, the alliance had been established – and his mother as the regent had no say in that since Blaise had turned fifteen already.

The young man on the other side of the desk smiled at Blaise.

"Then I welcome you to my Family, Lord Zabini," he said.

Blaise smiled at the other boy hesitatingly.

"Blaise," he offered.

The other boy's smile broadened at that.

"Blaise," he repeated and then stood. He went to the door, but stopped next to Blaise to whisper one sentence in his ear.

"I'm Salvazsahar," he said. "But you may call me 'Harry' in school."

Blaise eyes widened and the door closed behind the other teen.

_A snake in a lion's den – indeed…_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Garrick Ollivander sighed tiredly. It was the late evening and he had been finishing the last touches of his work since long before sunrise.

"But needs must," he mumbled to himself. "Needs must…"

That didn't change the fact that it had been far too long that he had had a decent rest. He was tired. Since he had seen the staff of destiny, he had dedicated his time to set up everything so that he was done when it was time.

Oh, he was aware that whole Diagon Alley was sure that he had gone round the bend – but unlike them he knew what followed that staff. He had seen it. Not once, not twice, but thrice at least.

His father had seen it.

His grandfather had seen it.

Ollivander would be a fool to not heed the warning he had gotten.

_Morgan._

_Grindelwald._

_Voldemort._

_Every time the staff had been there, drawn in the Ollivander family, calling for them, working with them, leading them._

No, Ollivander was no fool. The look of the man who carried it might have changed. The name the man bore might have changed as well – but it didn't change the fact that the staff of destiny was back to wreak havoc…

"Oh, Sal," Ollivander sighed. "What are you planning this time?"

Not that Ollivander really cared.

His father had followed the man who carried this staff.

His grandfather had.

His great-grandfather had as well.

Ollivander would be damned if he wouldn't do the same again…

In that moment a lonely owl descended down towards him. He held up his arm and removed the letter it carried the moment it sat down on it.

The owl hooted at that before leaping in the air again, leaving.

Ollivander looked at the seal of the letter.

His breathing hitched.

Then he closed his eyes before slowly breaking the seal.

Only one sentence was written on the parchment in black ink.

xXx

_Wizengamot Meeting in January._

_SEL_

xXx

"And here I thought we would have some more time for the apocalypse," Ollivander sighed tiredly. But then, he was dealing with _him _– Ollivander should have guessed that chaos would follow his wake as fast as possible.

"I'm not feeling sorry for you Albus Dumbledore," Ollivander murmured to himself. "No, I'm definitely not sorry for you…"

Ah, maybe he was…

At least a little bit…

A tiny, tiny little bit…

_Poor soul._

But then – everything had been Albus Dumbledore's fault in the first place, hadn't it been?

"Well, not everything," Ollivander mused. "But definitely enough. Definitely enough."

_Poor soul._

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Lady Longbottom, ma'am," Augusta Longbottom looked up from her reading to look at one of her house-elves who stood in front of her, ringing its hands.

"Yes?" she asked regally.

"You've got a guest, Lady Longbottom, ma'am," the house-elf said and she raised her right eyebrow.

"Who is it?" she asked, a little bit surprised considering the late hour.

"Dead person, Lady Longbottom, ma'am," the house-elf replied, sounding a lot more sure this time around.

Augusta's left eyebrow joined her right.

"A dead person is visiting me?" she repeated in disbelieve.

The house-elf nodded eagerly at that.

"Yes, Lady Longbottom, ma'am," it said. "Should Carly bring visitor to Lady Longbottom, ma'am?"

Augusta blinked at that, not truly comprehending what was happening.

_Had the house-elf gone around the bend?!_

"Bring… bring them in the visitor's room. I will join them there soon," she finally replied, unsure what else to say. She had been raised as a lady – but all her training hadn't prepared her for something like that.

She guessed that she would have to trust her wards and hope that whoever had come to visit wasn't truly… dead or a Death Eater.

Still, she slipped her wand in her hand and a port-key to a safe-house before going down into the visitor's room, joining her mysterious guest.

When she entered, for a moment she thought that ex-convict Sirius Black had entered her home, but then the man turned.

His face was rounder than Sirius Black's, his eyes darker. But still, the resemblance was great.

She frowned at the stranger and gripped her wand harder.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The man looked at her with an assessing gaze.

"Salvatio Malfoire sends me," he said. "He hopes you like his new article in the _Quibbler_ today."

At that, Augusta relaxed her grip on her wand a little bit. No one except of her and Professor Malfoire even knew that she knew who truly wrote those articles.

"Who are you?" she repeated anyway.

The man bowed at that.

"I am Regulus Arcturus Black, heir secundus of House Black," he answered. "I am here to ask for an alliance between our Houses and your aid in a quest of mine."

Augusta frowned at that.

"Sirius Black is the future Lord of the House of Black," she said and the man who should be dead in front of her inclined his head again.

"You shouldn't even be alive to –"

"I was saved by Salvatio Malfoire, Lady Longbottom," Regulus Arcturus Black replied. "He fought for my life for six years until I was finally well enough to survive on my own again. I can't tell you how often I nearly died in these six years."

"Six years?" Augusta repeated surprised and Regulus Black sighed.

"I was after… something Riddle used to bind himself to life," he said. "He had it hidden away behind powerful spells and a potion. I had to drink the potion which trapped me in my nightmares and slowly but surely killed me. If it had been any other wizard rescuing me than Salvatio Malfoire, I would have been dead within days."

"And yet you have been free from that potion for a while now and still preferred to stay dead officially," Augusta remarked and was surprised when the man in front of her grimaced.

"I would have stayed happily dead if Sal wouldn't have decided to send me here," he replied. "I never planned to return."

"And yet here you are, asking for an alliance between our Houses," Augusta said while raising an eyebrow.

Regulus inclined his head again.

"My brother has yet refused to take up his lordship," he said. "As such I can ask for an alliance between our houses. It is the only thing I can give you that shows you that I am who I say I am. It's also the only thing I can offer as an apology for the deeds a family member of my house has done to family members of your House."

Augusta's eyes narrowed at that.

"So you still claim Bellatrix Lestrange as a member of your family?" she asked coolly. The man in front of her snorted at that.

"I have no choice in that matter until either Sirius dies or he claims lordship and kicks her out," the young man replied and Augusta had to suppress a smile.

She guessed that she might come to like the heir secundus of Black.

"Is there anything else you can offer?" she asked him coolly anyway.

Regulus Black sighed at that.

"Sal and I had an idea how to help your son and his wife. We can't guarantee it, but I am willing to try and help them in any way I can. If I can't help them, I am willing to do anything to repay what House Longbottom has lost thanks to a member of House Black," he answered.

Augusta thought that over.

In the end she nodded, giving permission for the alliance.

The young man took it instantly.

"House Black offers alliance to House Longbottom – to follow where they go, to protect if they need protection, to support if they need support, to fight side by side until our Houses crease to exist or this alliance fails. So I, Regulus Arcturus Black, heir secundus of Black, swear."

A blue mist rose from the Black-heir's body to show the flowing crest of Black over the heir's head.

"The House Longbottom accepts the offer of House Black. If House Black holds true to its oath from now until the time of the Wizengamot Meeting in January or until it evicts Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black from its House, if former comes first, then House Longbottom will be willing to return the oath to them. So I, Augusta Elisabeth Longbottom, Regent of House Longbottom, swear."

The moment she said that, the crest of Black was pierced through by the Longbottom crest and in a firework-like shower of magic the magic settled.

"Now tell me, Heir Black, whatever for do you need my help?"

Regulus smiled at that.

"I've been ask to go on a quest quite similar than the one I mentioned before," he said. "I need to know where the Gaunts last lived…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Some hours later a pair of people was sitting in the first light of the sun in Lyon in France, enjoying their breakfast, when a normal looking barn owl arrived at the table.

"You've got a letter, Nick" Perenelle said while bringing said letter and breakfast to the table. Nicholas Flamel looked up from his newspaper.

"I have?" he asked. "Who is it from?"

"I don't know the signet" Perenelle answered. "But it looks formal."

Nicholas took the letter and also took a glance at the signet. It was a simple snake, winding itself round a simple lily. Nicholas stared at it. He knew that there were just a few signets which had a lily in it. The most prominent ones the House Emrys and Nicholas own house. The snake was also not often used. The houses Malfoire and Slytherin…

"The Slytherin-signet" Nicholas said. "This one belongs to Slytherin."

"So – the letter is from this foul creature who calls himself Salazar Slytherin's heir?" Perenelle asked.

"No, I don't think so. He would never use the original signet." Nicholas answered. "I bet he doesn't even know of the lily in the signet."

"So who…"

"I don't know", Nicholas answered and finally opened the letter.

xXx

_My dear old friend,_

_Wizengamot Meeting in January._

_I am sorry._

_Your old friend._

_Me._

xXx

"So who has written you?" Perenelle asked.

"It is our boy" Nicholas answered. "It seems he has enough of British politicians and decided to fix things the other way."

"But the signet…?"

"Well, someone seems to have more secrets then I even thought he has…"

"So he is a true heir of the House?"

"Who knows" Nicholas chuckled. "Who knows?"

"What will you do now?"

Nicholas smiled; then he slowly stood up from the breakfast table.

"I will pack" he answered.

"So you will…"

"I think it is time to step down" Nicholas confirmed. Maybe the boy was right and there was no way to forgive this time around…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Amelia Bones sighed and sat down the newspaper she had been reading. It seemed that Minister Fudge had finally gone too far in his ambition to discredit Oliver Twist. She sighed again and then looked at the paper file next to the newspaper.

It was an official notice of a trial.

It had been filed by Xenophilius Lovegood, Harryjames Potter and one Salvatio Malfoire – the share holders of the _Quibbler_. The accused? One Cornelius Oswald Fudge for slender, harassment, wrong accusations and threatening.

Unfortunately, the Minister winning this trial was nearly impossible, considering the evidence Amelia had verified for the barrister of the Quibbler, one Magnus Adam Selwyn.

Amelia looked back at the article in the newspaper and sighed again.

Even if the Minister would be able to hold onto his title after all this – one further blunder and he would be gone. She wondered if Oliver Twist was just biding his time to destroy the Minister fully or if he had used all his information in the article right in front of her.

But then, even if he had, it wouldn't matter. The chance of the Minister holding onto his position until after the Wizarding Meeting in January – after all, this would be the meeting that would introduce several new Lords into their ranks… and one of them was Harry Potter.

Her gaze refocused onto the newspaper.

There would be no way that Harry Potter wouldn't raise his voice against the Minister after the Minister's deeds in the past concerning him.

Amelia guessed that the Minister was already praying that Harry Potter would not join the Wizengamot in January – something Amelia doubted since in doing so Harry Potter would loose a lot of political clout and would be forced to wait until he turned twenty-one to do it again. No, Harry Potter, Amelia guessed, would join that day – and the Minister could only pray that his eviction would happen without any other mishap.

From the looks of Oliver Twist, Amelia guessed that it wouldn't.

Twist was set on destroying the man – not that Amelia minded… much.

xXx

_**The Minister on the War Path!**_

"_Oliver Twist is a liar and a disturbance for our peaceful ways of life! He's just trying to bring the public to go against their government! If we don't do something soon, Oliver Twist will bring down our society with all the lies he's sprouting!" - Anyone recognizes this rant? Those are the words of the Minister in the Wizengamot meeting yesterday – a public meeting, solely to discredit a teenage boy whose words have always proven true until now. It's odd that the meeting was spread via the Wizarding Wireless while poor Oliver Twist was not even invited to tell his part of the story – please note my sarcasm._

_Well, Minister, since you insisted on proclaiming me a liar and a disturbance for our peaceful ways of life, let's see what this disturbance can come up with this time around, and since you decided to pick apart my writing, I think I will have every right to pick apart your own doings – don't you think so, too?_

_Now, dear Minister, let's have a look at your doings over the last years. If I remember correctly – and I'm quite sure that I do, but you might either question one Mr. Rubeus Hagrid, one Mr. Albus Dumbledore or the Hogwarts' rumor mill or you might go to look at the list of Azkaban prisoners and look at the reason why they were arrested to confirm it – our dear Minister decided to start his quest against our __**laws**__ at least three years ago when he imprisoned Mr. Rubeus Hagrid for the happenings at Hogwarts in Azkaban solely because 'the Ministry has to be seen doing something about it'. Back then I was still an easily impressed child – but even then I wondered about the reason the Minister proclaimed for the imprisonment of one Mr. Rubeus Hagrid. Of course, I can't say that I heard the Minister proclaim this outrageous sentence – but like with every arrest the reason, as proclaimed by the one who did the arrest, was recorded by the list of Azkaban. I still shudder, days after looking up the reason and seeing exactly this sentence spelled out on parchment. It gets even more distressing if you remember the 'lies' I spoke just at the beginning of the new school year. I'm quite sure that you remember my 'lies' about the trial of one Lord Potter. His trial sounds oddly like the reason the Minister gave for arresting one Mr. Rubeus Hagrid back then, don't you think so too? Lord Potter proclaimed that the Dark Lord Tom Riddle was back, and suddenly he does magic in front of a muggle and is put on trial in front of the whole Wizengamot with the danger of loosing his right to carry a wand. Of course, liar that I am, I couldn't see that the Minister was surely right to condemn Lord Potter like he was right to condemn Mr. Rubeus Hagrid three years ago – and now, months later, I wonder how, back then, I could write those lies and back them up with the ministry's own recording of the trial of Lord Potter´… of course, you could also add all those 'lies' I sprouted about one Lord Sirius Orion Black who was just proven innocent at the Wizengamot meeting before the last to it – and now please look up the recording of the last Wizengamot meeting, the one which proclaimed me a liar: Isn't it odd that I, the presumed liar, was the one who proclaimed Lord Black innocent first?_

_But well, let's go further into the career of our beloved Minister. There was Harry Potter's third year – the year when Lord Black escaped Azkaban. I remember the Minister's very adamant choice to protect the children of Hogwarts – especially our beloved Saviour – by subjecting them to Dementors all year around. Of course, it was to protect our children, who can fault the minister if said children suffer from nightmares every night and nearly get their souls sucked out more than once – that's after all still better than having a sole mass murderer trying to kill a sole child. After all, bringing more than a hundred Dementors to Hogwarts is far cheaper than to give the endangered child a pair of bodyguards. If you don't believe me about the danger the Dementors proposed to the children of Hogwarts, maybe Madam Pomphrey will be willing to at least give you the approximate number of children that were brought to her because of being nearly kissed or because of nightmares all year long. There's also that one unforgettable Quidditch match that nearly killed Lord Potter and the rest of the Quidditch players when the Dementors decided to come by for a snack. It's odd that our dear Minister was even allowed to bring the Dementors to Hogwarts, since there's a __**law**__ in our law book that forbids them to even come near the British Coast. As far as I could find out, the Dementors have a treaty with the Pendragon House, our liege lords, that tells exactly what the Dementors are allowed to do on Britain and what they aren't – and them being at Hogwarts broke that treaty more than once. But then, it was our Minister's decision – and who can fault our Minister, especially if the one who reasons against the Minister is a truth-writing liar like me?_

_I won't return to the triad about the treatment of Lord Potter and Cedric Diggory by the Minister and the Minister's refusal to even look for the truth about that incident at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, but I can't help but add that within the last weeks our dear Minister has decided to prosecute another teenager – exactly like he did with Lord Potter at the end of the summer. Or what would you call it if the Minister goes against a known teenage boy, proclaiming him a liar while there is evidence that he didn't lie once and then sets out to orchestrate him from our community?_

_I, for once, can only hope that his rant on the Wizarding Wireless won't end in me being chucked into Azkaban without a trial – after all, we've seen enough evidence that that might be exactly what the Minister wants to archive._

_I am sorry for answering the Minister's proclamation like this, but I fear that if I don't show the difference between our doings now, I will be the one facing dire consequences for innocent words._

_Oliver Twist_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_Well, that's it for today. I hope you liked it._

_Ebenbild_


	45. Chapter 44: 1398: Consequences

_**Disclaimer: **__not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little bit…_

_**Important: **_

_**Thank you for all your reviews!**_

_Since I normally don't have time to answer all your fantastic reviews with a thank-you PM, I finally decided to write it down here. I absolutely adore the support I'm shown for my story and wanted to thank all my reviewers for every kind word they wrote to me. So: Thank you. Thank you so much!_

_**To all those who read this and share this day of joy and presents **__(I forgot the English word, something with born today or some such… xp xD)__**:**__**Happy birthday to you!**_

_And now, let's go on with the story…_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 1398**

**Consequences**

Sss

Peverell looked up from the book he was reading. Something was different. He frowned and closed his eyes to concentrate.

What had happened?

Even with his eyes closed it took him a while until he could pinpoint the exact thing that had changed within the last minutes. It wasn't what he had expected.

"How?" He whispered confused.

The answer was a whispered voice in the wind.

"Don't worry, Peverell," it said. "It's all like it should be."

Peverell's frown deepened at that.

"I'm quite sure that it isn't fifteen years already," he said. "You told me that with your help I could lock him away for fifteen years without any consequences."

"There are always consequences," the voice replied sighing. "I promised you fifteen years since fifteen years was the time he lived without blood-magic once. It was basically a reproduction of his life before… the event."

Peverell blinked at that.

"The event?" He asked.

"It doesn't matter for you," the voice replied. "And it won't matter from now on as well. He broke the circle."

Now Peverell was totally confused.

"What circle?"

"Rebirth's circle," the voice replied with another sigh. "We basically rebirthed him like a Phoenix dies and is reborn. They die as an old bird in an ocean of flames and are reborn as a chick in ashes. His status as a Phoenix-born allows him a rebirth if I grand it to him. I did, so he was reborn – new and unencumbered. He was a child again – a real child without the burden of his previous life, exactly like the Phoenix is for the first hours of his new life. Over time his body started to remember his previous life, like it should be. His memories should have started to return soon: first in dreams, then in knowledge and then for real. At that point of time he would have slowly started up to do his blood-magicks again – and all would have been fine."

"And yet, this obviously hasn't happened," Peverell concluded darkly.

"It hasn't," the voice agreed. "He broke the circle."

"And yet you don't seem upset about it," Peverell concluded and the voice laughed a chilly laugh that made Peverell's skin crawl.

"No, I'm not," the voice replied. "I knew already that he would break it."

At that, Peverell stared into the shadows in his room in confusion.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because he wasn't born to follow the rules," the voice said amused. "His whole life is a life against the fundamental laws of nature while at the same time following them to a 'T' – haven't you noticed already?"

Peverell hadn't – but then, as good as he knew Salvazsahar he didn't know him as good as the voice in the shadows, because unlike the voice, he hadn't been there for all of it.

"Why?" he finally asked confused.

"Because someone who acts against nature is always drawn to someone who does it as well," the voice replied.

"That sounded as if Sal's evil," Peverell snorted.

"Not evil," the voice replied amused. "He balances everything. He always did. The moment evil is about to go on a winning streak, he's there and stops it. He's fundamental for the wizarding world – even more so in the future."

"And yet he has no idea –"

"No, he hasn't," the voice said. "He can't for now. He has to make his final choice first. It's his decision – to live or to die. When he has decided, I will either release him of his duties or finalize our deal. That's the way things have to be."

"That still doesn't explain why it has to be him," Peverell said sighing.

The answer was a laugh, but no answer was given.

"No, it doesn't," the voice said. "It doesn't at all."

xXxXxXxXx

Weeks later, Nicholas silently left the room when Salvatio's teacher finally left.

"_Something has changed within your son over the summer,"_ the Salvatio's Professor had said. "_Whatever happened, he isn't the same anymore_."

And Nicholas couldn't help but feel guilty, since there was just one reason why sweet Salvatio, his parents' pride and joy, had changed.

It had been Nicholas' actions that changed the child.

"Nick?" Nicholas turned around and looked at his wife who looked at him quizzically. "Are you alright?"

Nicholas opened his mouth to lie, but his mouth seemed to have another idea.

"No," it said. "I'm not."

Perenelle looked at him in concern.

"Nick," she said. "Why are you worried?"

And for a moment, Nicholas cursed that his wife knew him that well to be able to read him so easily. Then he sighed, looked around to make sure that Cathérine and Henri had left and they were alone, and decided to confess.

"The professor," he said sighing. "He was right."

"Right with what?" Perenelle asked frowning.

"Something happened to Salvatio," Nicholas said quietly. "And it was my fault."

His wife's frown deepened at that.

"What are you -?"

"Do you remember when you and the other were gone while I was home with Salvatio?" He asked. "The time he was in bed with fever?"

"I do," Perenelle asked confused. "Why do you ask that?"

"I didn't listen," Nicholas confessed and suddenly tears began to flow. "I didn't listen and now something's wrong with our nephew!"

Perenelle raised an eyebrow at that.

"I fear, you don't make any sense," she said still half-frowning.

"I experimented," Nicholas said, letting the tears flow freely. "I thought it was safe. The formula was sound and I didn't see any risk in brewing the potion –"

Perenelle's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't see where you're going with this, Nick," she said. "I know you. If you think that a formula is sound, then normally there's just a minimal risk involved –"

"But I was wrong this time around!" Nicholas interrupted her heatedly. "I was wrong!"

"And yet I don't see how that could have changed Sal –"

"The potion blew up and I nearly died!" Nicholas replied in a rushed way. "I was wrong; my formula wasn't as sound as I thought and the potion blew up and nearly killed me!"

"And yet you were whole and healthy when we came back," Perenelle reminded him. "Did you hit your head, Nick?"

"Yes!" Nicholas said, then he shook his head. "I mean: no, I didn't hit my head, but yes, I was fully healed when you returned. It was Salvatio who did it."

Perenelle's eyes narrowed at that.

"What do you mean 'it was Salvatio who did it'?" She asked coolly.

Nicholas just shrugged helplessly.

"I don't actually understand what happened," he replied. "The potion blew up. I was dying. Salvatio came in and found me and then there's nothing. I woke up fully healed with a crying child in my lap in the middle of some kind of ritual – a healing ritual, Salvatio called it."

This time he saw his wife's confusion in her eyes.

"I don't know where he learned it," Nicholas said quietly. "But he basically confessed that he knew how to do a ritual – a healing ritual, he said. He also told me that it wasn't enough and…"

Nicholas trailed off and shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "The only thing that matters is that it was my fault that he changed. He wouldn't have changed if I wouldn't have been so stupid and decided to brew even after you warned me not to do it. He would still be the same sweet child if I hadn't –"

"Even if you were at fault," Perenelle said. "Even whatever you said has truly happened – and I'm not yet convinced that it did and that you didn't solely hit your head and dreamed it – there's still the possibility that it wasn't you who changed him."

Nicholas just shook his head.

"Something happened that night," he said. "I'm not sure what, but I know that something happened. He was different after that night. I thought he was traumatized. I tried to talk to him about it but he refused. But if they also noticed at school, then there has to have been more than just shock to it. Yes, he saved my life. Yes, it must have been a shock to him to find me dying. But I survived and yet he didn't return to the child we knew, instead it seemed to have gotten worse. Whatever happened that night, it was more than just finding me half-dead and healing me – and it is my fault that it happened."

Perenelle sighed at that.

"Nicholas," she said slowly, but Nicholas just shook his head.

"I know it, Perenelle," he said, his eyes grave. "Don't even try to tell me different."

For a moment, his wife seemed to want to argue against him, but in the end, she just inclined her head.

"I will not argue with you for now," she said. "We will ask Salvatio to return for Yule. We will talk to him then. If you're right, then we will know and we will help him to overcome whatever else happened that night, alright, _cheri_?"

For a moment, Nicholas wanted to argue, but then he sighed and gave in as well.

He nodded.

Come Yule they would know what exactly happened that night Nicholas nearly died.

xXxXxXxXx

It was weeks later when Peverell got a visit he had hoped to never get.

"Peverell!" The voice of an angry vampire echoed through the halls, waking Peverell's descendants.

It was Peverell's restricting hand that stopped his many-times grand-son to head down and meet the threat head on.

"Don't," he said. "He came for me."

"Grandfather," the younger man started to say, but Peverell shushed him. "It was I who did something so it will be I who has to accept the consequences. Don't worry; he's not here to kill someone… I think."

His grandson looked at him in concern, but Peverell just smiled at him before heading down the stairs himself.

In the foyer stood Anastasius Sanguini, looking like he was about to breath fire in fury.

"Ana," Peverell greeted the vampire.

"Don't 'Ana' me, father-abductor!" The vampire seethed. "Thirteen years! I thought him dead for thirteen years!"

"And it was for the better," Peverell replied coolly. "Sal wasn't in any condition to continue like before –"

"That doesn't mean you can simply kidnap him!" Anastasius roared.

"It was either that or watching him die by his own hands!" Peverell replied sighing. "I couldn't let you come anywhere near him while he was a child –"

"Why?! Do you think I would have bitten him?" The vampire cried indignantly. "I wouldn't!"

"Which I know quite well," Peverell said. "But you were part of his old life – a life that he couldn't remember as long as –"

"You made him forget?" The vampire screeched. "How could you do that?"

"- as long as nobody he knew would meet him. If I had known that his parents decided to let him attend Hogwarts I would have stopped them since the risk of meeting someone he knew and breaking the seal on his memories was far greater there –"

"You sealed his memories?" The vampire shouted. "Do you know what consequences –"

"I know!" Peverell interrupted the vampire heatedly. "Don't you dare to accuse me of not taking in account the changes that would happen to his character if he was sealed away! But it was the only way I could help him! I refused to let him die and –"

"Shouldn't you have let him die?" The vampire sneered. "Isn't that a law of the immortal Firbolg? If one of them decides to die, you can't stop him and some such?"

Peverell's eyes narrowed at that.

"It is," he said. "It was an agreement between those that are counted to the immortal: the basilisks, the phoenixes, the dementors, the elder dragons, the thunderbirds, the high elves and the unicorns. Not that I truly understand how those purebloods can be counted to the immortal, considering that the most of them might live long – but not forever."

"If you know about it then why -?"

"Why not?" Peverell said amused.

Anastasius' eyes narrowed even more.

"You're a Firbolg-born like my father," he said. "Every Firbolg knows about the agreement – if they're part in it or not – and every Firbolg follows the agreement. So you shouldn't have done it. Nobody would."

Peverell shrugged.

"The agreement doesn't matter," he said. "I broke it. And I don't regret it at all."

Anastasius looked at him in surprise.

"I'm not sure what to think about that," he finally settled on.

Peverell laughed.

"Unlike other purebloods I do have some… rights… that they don't have," he said. "Not one of the others would argue with my decision if they knew that I decided it."

Anastasius frowned.

"I don't think I understand," he said and Peverell smiled.

"I knew you wouldn't," he replied, waving it off as if it wasn't important. "I'm not about to show you for now."

Peverell had no interest in confessing the most important secret he had kept since long before he had met Salvazsahar. The secret wasn't for the vampire's ears to hear – and the one who should hear the confession wouldn't be able to accept it now.

Peverell knew that his confession would have to wait for long since after his death. He could hint at it – he would hint at it – but he wouldn't confess. Still, if someone would draw the right conclusion out of his words – well, that wasn't his fault, was it?

His eyes fell on the shadow hidden in the entrance of his home, lingering in the still open door, watching them with unreadable eyes.

Anastasius hadn't seen it yet.

The vampire's eyes again narrowed at Peverell's words.

"You'll not show me?" He repeated darkly. "You're telling me that you broke an agreement that's older than my entire race – Gods! It's older than humanity! – and you refuse to show me why you – a baby in the eyes of everybody who's part of the agreement – thinks that he's above it?! Truly? Do you truly think that a little child like you has any right to even think about breaking something that's so fundamental for our world?"

"I told you: I don't care and I definitely don't regret it," Peverell said softly. "And I don't think that you truly regret that I broke the agreement."

"That's not the point!" Anastasius roared. "It was my father's decision! My great-grandparents stopped _me_ when I tried to interfere! If _I_, as his _son_, am not allowed to interfere – who are _you_ to think that you are allowed to do just that? Who are you that you think you're above the law?!"

"I told you I won't –"

"I don't care if you don't want to tell me! If I have to I will force you to –"

Anastasius was never able to end his threat.

"Anastasius Arthur Lucidarius Sanguini!" A voice interrupted the vampire sternly. It was the shadowed figure in Peverell's doorway.

The vampire flinched and turned hurriedly.

His eyes flickered over the shadow's face and body, reading the annoyed body-language of his opponent.

"Pater," he said, sounding more like a scolded child than a grown adult for just a moment before catching himself and returning to his adult behaviour. "What are you doing here, Pater?"

Peverell again looked over Anastasius' shoulder just to see thirteen-year-old Salvatio Malfoire standing in his door, a phoenix on his shoulder. He was looking at Anastasius sternly.

"Grandfather brought me when we found out that you were out and about to find out about my condition," Sal said coolly.

Anastasius gawked at that.

"But… but… you should be at Hogwarts!" He exclaimed.

"I should," Sal said coolly. "And so should you. Instead you are dandling across half of Europe – first to visit my… my parents just to inquire about me – your student! – and then you go searching for a man who should have been dead for centuries already!"

"Well, you were behaving oddly –"

"So why go and search out my parents instead of confronting me?"

"Because…" Anastasius actually had no explanation for that. "Er… I was… scared? I feared that I was wrong and –"

"-and you still should have talked to me first," Sal interrupted him sighing. "Really, child, sometimes I wonder how someone like me managed to raise a Gryffindor-like person like you. Only a Gryffindor would go out to confront the parents instead of the child – and then go searching for someone who should be dead!"

"But I knew he wasn't!"

"That doesn't matter!" Sal exclaimed. "You're a teacher at Hogwarts! You've accepted the responsibility for the education of your students! Dilly-dallying across the country definitely doesn't concur with your responsibility as a teacher! So, tell me again: What _are _you doing here?"

Anastasius frowned at that.

"I'm looking into the wellbeing of one of my students," he replied.

"That might have been the case in France," Sal countered. "But you already knew that I was well when you came here – so I ask again: What are you doing _here_?"

Anastasius pouted.

"I'm researching what happened to my father," he replied childishly. "I needed to know!"

"You might have needed to know for your own sake of mind," Sal replied. "But you could have gone and looked into it at the weekend. So again: _What are you doing here_?"

Anastasius shrunk into himself.

"Confronting the man who took away my father?" he finally asked meekly.

Sal sighed.

"Gryffindors!" He said, rolling his eyes. "Truly, Ana? Confronting a man who was able to not only de-age me to a child but also took away my memory – don't you think that confronting someone like that could have had dire consequences?"

"But… but… we're talking about Peverell!" Anastasius said confused. "I lived with him for a while! He isn't dangerous!"

Sal gave his son the gimlet eye.

"Peverell fried a whole fortress with lightning; he was one of the reasons why Hogwarts came to be and stood up to the Gathering of Lords without consequences for him; he de-aged a two-thousand-year old Firbolg and made him loose his memory; he did all that without breaking a sweat – and you tell me he's not dangerous?!"

Anastasius opened his mouth to answer.

"Think about it, child!" Sal hissed and Anastasius closed his mouth again.

A contemplative look crossed the vampire's features.

"Well… if you put it like that…"

Anastasius pouted and Sal rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I put it like that," he said. "Truly, Ana, what were you thinking? Peverell might have come across as nice and harmless, but if you look at his deeds in the past you would have long seen that he's definitely anything but that. Just looking at him – living for hundreds of years without any kind of magical help – should have told you about his power. Only a first generation Firbolg-born of at least one of the immortal can live for that long – and no Firbolg-born of their descendant has ever been harmless."

Anastasius frowned.

"But you are harmless," he said confused.

Sal stared at him in disbelieve.

Somehow his son reminded him of this very old memory of a gamekeeper at Hogwarts and a dragon's egg…

Sal hadn't thought about that man in a while, but the resemblance…

He shook his head.

"I truly have to go over the whole 'dangerous and not dangerous' thing with you, do I, Anastasius?" He sighed.

Anastasius blinked at that. His eyes widening when he finally realised something else.

"So you _do _remember me!" He exclaimed surprised.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"In the last few minutes, I talked to you about the past, spoke about your character and – believe me when I tell you that this part isn't widely known to everybody – I used your _full _name, Ana," he said amused. "I thought that at least the full name was an indicator that I remember you, considering that you hate your full name and normally don't use it at all…"

Peverell snorted amused while Anastasius pouted.

"You didn't act as if you were remembering me when I left Hogwarts," he said, still pouting.

The answer was a sigh.

"I was still absorbing my memories back then," Sal replied. "I wasn't quite sure what I was remembering so I didn't say anything."

"But you _do _remember now?" Peverell asked sighing and Sal's green eyes met his own brown ones. Peverell shivered at that coolness in those eyes.

"I do, Peverell," he said, ice in his voice before it warmed slightly. "Thank you, Peverell."

Peverell raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure –"

"You and I both know that I would have killed myself if you hadn't stopped me," Sal said.

"I know," Peverell sighed. "But I definitely didn't think you would thank me for my actions."

The answer was a half-sad smile.

"I forgot that there's still something I need to do some time in the future," Sal replied sighing. "My time as a child and my returning memories reminded me of that. I… forgot… that I can't die without doing at least that."

Peverell frowned at that confused.

"Doing what?" He asked and Sal smiled.

"Sending myself home to atr," he said. "That is one thing I cannot _not _do."

When Peverell still looked confused, Sal just padded his hand with a smile.

"Don't worry," he said. "That's something I've never told you. Just know that I won't try again. I remember what's important now – and I think I will be able to live as long as I remember why I need to continue living."

"That doesn't sound as if you like living," Peverell frowned.

The answer was another half-sad smile.

"I don't," Sal replied. "I have seen too much, done too much to like it anymore, but at the same time I don't mind it anymore."

Peverell sighed.

"What will you tell your family?" he asked finally.

Sal looked quite uncomfortable at that.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I don't like lying to them, but I also don't want my parents to loose their child – even if they already lost it somehow the moment I started to remember. They're still my parents, because I remember being raised by them and part of me loves them like that – but at the same time they're children in my eyes now. I'm not sure how to cope with that…"

Peverell grimaced.

"In the end, it's your decision," he said. "Either you return to them and accept them as the parents they were to you for the last thirteen years or you return to your old life and refuse to ever return to them from now on."

Sal grimaced and sighed.

"I can't simply leave them," he said. "The part of me that was the child raised by them would never forgive myself if I simply left them. At the same time I won't be able to be the same… child… I was, now that I remember."

For a moment, silence reigned.

"I can come with you and tell them that you came into your inheritance early," Peverell finally suggested. "They don't know a lot about purebloods and they think that you are one. We can explain the changes like that. If you want to you can even explain your memories like that. They always knew that you weren't a normal magical and they accepted you anyway. I'm quite sure that they'll accept you even with your memories and changed behaviour."

At those words, the phoenix on Sal's shoulder flew down to the floor and changed into a red haired man with fiery eyes.

"That is the least you can do," Fawarx said. "You were the one who broke our law after all and brought Salvazsahar as a child to his current family."

Anastasius groaned.

"Not that again," he mumbled. "Peverell and I just talked about that shortly before you came…"

Sal looked at Anastasius in surprise, but Fawarx ignored his great-grandchild's exclamation and instead started at Peverell icily.

Peverell's eyes lit up like lightning at that.

"Not my law," he said. "I'm not bound by it."

"Every Firbolg – immortal or not – is bound by that law!" Fawarx countered. "We don't have many laws, but this one is unbreakable! Nobody – absolute _nobody_ – has the right to even think about interfering in this law!"

"Like I said," Peverell countered darkly. "I don't care! _I am not_ bound by it!"

"No Firbolg is an exception!" Fawarx replied icily.

The answer was a sneer.

"That's what the thunderbird's part of my soul tells me," Peverell replied coolly. "But it's not this part in me that refuses –"

"If you're part thunderbird, part of the immortal, then you're even more bound by it!" Fawarx hissed angrily.

Peverell fletched his teeth. It was an utterly feral gesture and made Anastasius' skin crawl. The phoenix, to Anastasius and his own surprise, stepped one step backwards.

"_I am not_ bound by that law," Peverell repeated, before he added nearly silently. "My actions are bound by far worse than a simple law."

His eyes and the eyes of the phoenix met and the phoenix shivered at that.

Something passed between the immortal phoenix and the seven hundred-year old pureblood.

The phoenix was the first to look away.

"I see," Fawarx finally said nearly silently. "You're the first grim's child…"

Peverell grimaced at that.

"I am," he said. "It wasn't my choice."

The phoenix laughed at that.

"Definitely not," he said. "I am one of the few truly immortal Firbolg, and even I prefer my fate to yours."

Peverell waved it off.

"It's not I who suffers because of his relation to the first grim," he said. "My father suffered for thousands of years – but unlike him neither myself nor my sister were born a true grim, hence, I'm not born to suffer like my father."

Anastasius and Sal looked at him in confusion, but Fawarx nodded.

"I remember your father," Fawarx said. "I heard he was finally granted his end some hundred years ago –"

The phoenix looked at the pureblood in front of him thoughtfully.

"I would have sworn that he was granted his end just decades after your birth," Fawarx added.

Peverell inclined his head.

"He already had a living heir back then. His heir back then had already been slowly taking over my father's duties for about a thousand years. But duties like his can be a heavy burden and two of them managing them, was a lot easier than just one of them doing them. My father would have prevailed for at least another thousand years if I hadn't offered to share the duty with his successor for him."

"What kind of duties are you talking about, Peverell?" Sal asked with narrowed eyes.

Peverell looked at the man-turned-child and grimaced again.

"Let's just say, that the first one who ever wielded the Deathly Hallows rightfully was my father," he said.

Sal's eyes widened at that.

"Did he like Medrawed –"

"Medrawed didn't wield those powers rightfully." Peverell answered sighing. "There aren't a lot of people who have the strength to wield them without succumbing to their thrall. My father could – and since he could, he could give them up long before I was even born…"

"Give them up?" Sal repeated surprised.

"The final and the first deed of those who can truly wield their powers," Peverell answered sighing. "I am sorry, Salvazsahar."

Sal frowned at that.

"It wasn't you who gave them up," he said confused.

"No, but if it weren't for my grandfather and father, they wouldn't even exist," Peverell replied. "My father gave them up about two thousand years ago. If he hadn't, Medrawed would have never found them and never succumbed to them. You wouldn't have to bury your brother –"

"So he wouldn't have done the Horcrux without the Deathly Hallows?" Sal questioned bitterly.

Peverell winced.

"No," he said. "The decision for the Horcrux has nothing to do with the Deathly Hallows."

"In other words: It wouldn't have changed a thing," Sal replied bitterly.

Peverell opened his mouth to object, but in the end, he couldn't.

"I fear you are right," he finally said tiredly. "There's a huge chance that it wouldn't have changed anything in the end, except that he would have died that day you used your eyes on him and not ended up as stone."

Sal raised his eyebrow at that, but before he could ask, Peverell continued with the explanation Sal would have asked for.

"A Horcrux binds the soul to the living world," Peverell said. "But it doesn't bind the soul to its body. The Hallows on the other hand bind the soul to the body and not just to the living world. Your brother's body would have died that day if he hadn't been the Master of the Deathly Hallows."

Sal said nothing for a moment or two after that confession. In the end, he just sighed.

"I guess it was better like that," he said. "At least he couldn't wreak havoc as a wraith while I was looking for his Horcrux."

Peverell smiled at the immortal boy in front of him.

It was great to see that Sal had healed enough to be able to deal with his deed without feeling too guilty about it. Oh, Peverell could still see and hear the hurt and self-hatred in Sal's face and voice, but he also could see the slow acceptance that was muffling the guilt.

Sal wasn't alright, but he would be in time.

xXxXxXxXx

It was the day before Yule when the front step of Malfoire Mansion was again occupied by a man who actually didn't belong to the Malfoire family. This time it was Nicholas who opened the door, feeling like a dejà-vu was about to happen.

The old man in front of the door looked the same like thirteen years ago.

Nicholas frowned when he saw the man.

"I thought you would come back in two years and not now," he said and the old man sighed.

"I planned to," he said. "But something changed, so I am here now."

Nicholas' gaze darkened at that, but he stepped aside nevertheless.

"Cathérine and Henri won't let you take the child if that's what you came to do," he told the old man. The man just sighed.

"Don't worry," he said. "I didn't come to take away the child."

Nicholas frowned but nodded before leading the old man to the sitting room where Cathérine, Henri and Perenelle were conversing and reading. Salvatio had secluded himself to his room the moment he had returned home yesterday night. He hadn't shown himself all day.

"Who was at the door, _cheri_?" Perenelle asked, looking up from her scrolls. Her breathing hitched when she recognised the old man behind her husband.

"You," she said and Cathérine and Henri turned at her fearful expression.

Cathérine's eyes widened when she recognised the man.

"Are," she gulped before forcing the words out of her mouth. "Are you here for Salvatio?"

The old man sighed at that.

"May I take a seat?" He asked and when the two women reluctantly nodded, he sat in one of the left-over seats before continuing. "Yes, I am here for Salvatio," he said. "Something happened this summer."

Nicholas paled at that.

"So… so it was my fault?" He asked with guilt-ridden eyes. He had confessed what happened to his brother- and sister-in-law after he had talked about it with Perenelle. He thought that he should at least tell Salvatio's parents what he had recklessly done and how it had changed their beloved son.

"Your fault?" The old man frowned.

"I was dying and he healed me," Nicholas confessed. "He was different after that –"

The old man frowned.

"So that's how it happened," he said. "I was notified when it happened but I didn't know how it happened."

Nicholas closed his eyes at that.

"So it was my fault," he said defeated. "If I hadn't been, whatever happened to Salvatio wouldn't have happened…"

The answer was a sigh.

"May I ask what you allude to when you talk about 'whatever happened to him'?" The old man asked. "What did you notice changing?"

Nicholas bit his lips at that before looking at his wife and the rest of the family.

"He was more withdrawn," Cathérine said slowly. "At that point of time I still had no idea that something had happened because someone didn't tell me about the accident." She sent Nicholas a dark look, and Nicholas looked away. Neither Cathérine nor Henri had been happy with him when they finally found out. They hadn't blamed him for the accident, but they blamed him for not telling them sooner.

"He was a little bit more cautious," Henri added. "And his vampire teacher came by because Salvatio started acting different towards him. I don't know how he acted different, because the teacher never said; I just know that he did."

"Nicholas also noticed that Salvatio's tears gained… phoenix-like abilities," Perenelle added. "Or at least we never noticed it if they had if before – not that Salvatio cried much even as a babe."

The old man nodded at that.

"What about knowledge?" He asked and Nicholas frowned.

"Are you talking about the ritual he used to heal me?" He asked and was surprised when the old man nodded.

"This would do," the old man said.

Nicholas eyes narrowed.

"Why did you ask us about those changes?" He questioned wearily.

To his surprise, the answer didn't come from the man in front of him but from a child's voice at the door.

"Because he wanted to know if I truly woke up," the child's voice said and Nicholas as well as the others turned to look at Salvatio who stood at the entrance to the door warily.

"Salvatio," the old man greeted the child.

"Peverell," the child replied as if greeting an old friend. Nicholas' eyes narrowed.

"You know him, Salvatio?" He asked cautiously.

"I remember him bringing me to you," Salvatio replied. "It's a little bit blurry, as if it was a dream, but I remember him nevertheless."

"He never told us his name back then," Nicholas said frowning and Salvatio just shrugged.

"I know," the child replied. "But I remember everything before I met you as well – even looking at my birth parents for the first time, and also looking at them for the last time."

Peverell grimaced at that.

Perenelle on the other side frowned.

"He didn't remember before," she said before turning to Peverell. "What happened?"

The old man sighed.

"I know I promised you fifteen years before his heritage would make itself known, but," at that he was interrupted by Nicholas when Nicholas finally understood what had happened back when he had nearly died.

"His heritage," he said in dawning realisation. "When he tried to rescue me it awakened his pureblood heritage."

It was Salvatio who answered.

"It did," the child said. "I'm sorry, Oncle Nick."

Nicholas just shook his head.

"It isn't you who should be sorry," he said, feeling angry with himself. "It is I. I was the one who was stupid enough to experiment with nobody in the house to help me if something happened! I was the one who basically forced you to grow up faster than you should just because I was too stupid to keep myself safe!"

Salvatio just shook his head.

"I could have let you die, Oncle," the child said. "It was my decision – and I don't regret it."

Nicholas opened his mouth to object, but the old man who had been called 'Peverell' by Salvatio, intercepted him before he could even utter one word.

"You don't have to worry about Salvatio," he said. "Awaking early hasn't done him any harm."

The child raised an eyebrow at that but didn't object.

"So," Perenelle said cautiously. "What does happen now that Salvatio truly is a pureblood?"

To Nicholas surprise the old man looked at Salvatio with a questioning look instead of answering immediately.

Salvatio hesitated.

Then he sighed.

"I won't leave or anything if you don't want me to," he said. "But I'm not the child you know anymore as well."

Salvatio looked at his parents and aunt and uncle with shadowed eyes.

"I can't be the innocent child I was before this summer ever again," he said. "If you can't accept that, I will leave because I won't act and lie to you like that. I grew up loving you as my parents. I won't defile this relationship by trying to lie to you about my character and decisions."

"Salvatio is a phoenix-born," Peverell said sighing. "His heritage doesn't just involve abilities, it also involves memories."

"Like the ritual he used to heal me," Nicholas concluded.

Salvatio inclined his head.

"Yes," he said. "But not just that. I've gained about two thousand years worth of memories. I'm not a child anymore."

At that, Cathérine pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.

It was Henri who asked the question they all wanted to ask.

"Does that mean we aren't your parents anymore?" Henri's voice was soft, full of grieve and yet accepting in a way Nicholas wasn't sure he himself could have ever been.

The conflict on Salvatio's face was heart-breaking and at the same time so hope-inducing. It looked as if two parts in him were ringing with each other. One part, so Nicholas guessed, the memories the child gained, and one part the child they raised.

It was heartening to see that the child hadn't stopped loving them even with the memories he gained.

Obviously Cathérine could see it as well, because she stumbled to her feet to run over to her child. She fell to her knees in front of it and embraced it, burying her tear-strained face into her child's shoulder.

For a moment, Salvatio looked uncomfortable, but in the end, he hesitatingly reached out and embraced his mother – and_ his_ mother she was, at least in Nicholas' eyes.

"Like I said before," Salvatio said, his voice laced with longing and tears. "I won't leave if you don't want me to. Just don't expect me to be the same."

At that, Henri smiled tearfully before standing up and joining his son and wife at the door.

"We won't, Salvatio," he said. "As long as you don't expect us to always remember that you now feel a lot older than you are; we at least try to remember that you suddenly gained enough knowledge to make us children in your eyes…"

Salvatio grimaced at that.

"I definitely didn't need that mental image," he complained and his parents laughed.

"Sorry, _mon fils_," Henri replied before hesitating. "Is it still alright with you to call you that?"

Salvatio sighed.

"You raised me for thirteen years,_ papa_," he said. "Even if I have the memories of two thousand years, it doesn't change the fact that habits from my time growing up with you had time to fester. I'm quite sure that even_ I_ am hard pressed to stop calling you my parents even if I remember hundreds of years living without you."

The answer was a smile from Cathérine.

"Don't even try to stop," Cathérine said. "Believe me, even if you would have turned out a five-thousand-years old vampire with memory-loss. We raised you, so you are still our son!"

At that Salvatio blinked in surprise before exchanging a glance with Peverell.

"No," Peverell said amused. "He's definitely not five thousand years old – and believe me, you would have long since noticed if he were a vampire."

Salvatio snorted at that.

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Peverell," he said. "How, by the Gods, did you find those people for me as parents? I somehow have the feeling you intent to drown me in Gryffindors!"

Peverell looked at the child innocently.

"They're from Beauxbaton," he replied. "I had no idea what house they would have been in at Hogwarts."

Salvatio just raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?" He asked and Peverell shrugged.

"Well, I followed Godric's line, since I know of the relation between your mother and them," Peverell replied. "I'm not at fault for the rest of all this!"

Nicholas frowned at that.

"What do you mean 'you followed Godric's line'?" He asked suspiciously.

The old man sighed.

"I planned to give Salvatio to a relation of his," he said. "Since, like you know, I'm quite old and because of that weary to raise a child all alone. I knew that he was related to Godric Gryffindor, the founder of Hogwarts, so I searched for Godric's heirs."

"And you came to me," Nicholas said, suddenly understanding in his eyes. "You know my true last name."

For a moment, Peverell hesitated. Cathérine, Henri and Salvatio looked at Nicholas interestedly.

"What do you mean 'your true last name'?" Cathérine asked and Nicholas grimaced.

"You know that my family left Britain when I was a child of ten, don't you?"

Cathérine and Henri nodded.

"When I was accepted at Beauxbaton, I changed my last name to Flamel to obscure my heritage. Perenelle knows, but we never told our children or anybody else," Nicholas said sighing.

At that, Henri frowned.

"You obscured your last name?" He asked.

Nicholas sighed.

"My last name isn't one you can bear easily," he replied sighing. "It's a name shadowed in history and darkness. I grew up with it for ten years and I was vilified long before I was even old enough to have a wand. I didn't want the same for my children, so I begged my parents to change my name when I was added to Beauxbaton as a student."

Henri frowned.

"Vilified?" He asked.

Nicholas grimaced.

"The name 'LeFay' normally always makes sure that you're vilified by only having that name," he replied. "I'm not surprised that Godric Gryffindor gave up his name when founding Hogwarts…"

Peverell snorted.

"Actually," he said. "Giving up his name was an accident. He was married to my sister Rowena while I was married to his sister Helga. It was simply practical to differentiate between us with the help of nick-names. It would have been confusing otherwise."

The other adults stared at Peverell.

"You were a founder of Hogwarts?" Nicholas asked surprised.

Peverell shook his head.

"No," he said. "My wife was. I simply knew them all."

Sal snorted.

"I remember distinctively one very shiny tower belonging to you in Hogwarts," he said amused.

Peverell shrugged at that.

"I had to live somewhere," he said. "Anyway, I wouldn't dare to claim it again. It's inhabited by a nuisance without any sense of rightfulness."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"Sounds as if you're peeved with the Sorting Hat," he said amused. "Whatever why?"

Peverell answered with a disbelieving look towards the child.

"It put you in Ravenclaw!" He said.

Sal shrugged.

"It did," the child said amused. "That doesn't explain why you're peeved."

"It. Put. _You_. In. _Ravenclaw_!" Peverell replied slowly. "That thing is either insane or defect – whatever it is, it's definitely _not _doing its job right anymore!"

Sal winked it off.

"Don't worry, Peverell," he said. "If I ever wear it again, I'll promise to try for Hufflepuff."

Peverell gawked at him.

"Huffle… puff," he repeated slowly. "You…"

Salvatio grinned.

"Why not?" He asked. "I remember being sorted into Gryffindor once, after all…"

Peverell shook his head slowly.

"You know what, Sal," he said. "I don't want to know what you've been up to since I last saw you. I like being sane, thank you very much."

Sal shrugged unconcerned.

"You're not implying that my parents raised me to be insane, do you?" He asked amused and Nicholas wondered if Peverell knew what memories Salvatio had inherited. It seemed that Peverell at least knew enough about those memories to be able to interact with the child.

Peverell at the same time opened his mouth, just to close it again without saying anything.

The old man shook his head and then turned to Cathérine.

"There's just one thing you should know about your son if he stays with you," he said. "Salvatio won't die – at least not for quite some time."

At that, Henri and Cathérine exchanged a concerned gaze.

"What do you mean 'he won't die'?" Perenelle asked.

"Firbolg-born like me lives for a very long time," Salvatio replied for the old man. "Just look at Peverell: He lived for seven hundred years already – and he isn't one of the so called immortal ones. My own birth-father lived for over a thousand years."

At that, Cathérine closed her eyes.

"So I guess you will live that long as well," Henri said concerned.

Sal shrugged.

"About," he said. "My father was killed. He didn't die naturally."

Cathérine and Henri exchanged a look.

"Will he age like a human?" Henri asked Peverell.

Peverell nodded.

"At least for now, he will," Peverell said. "He will grow up like any other child, but he's right. He won't die for a very long time."

Nicholas' eyes darkened at that.

"And I won't as well," he said, exchanging a look with Perenelle. "I'm working on a Philosopher's stone – and I will succeed. I can make sure that we'll be able to look after him until he doesn't need or want us anymore!"

Peverell frowned at that, but in the end shrugged.

"You can at least try to find the formula," the old man said. "If you don't succeed, so be it."

Nicholas gave him the gimlet eye.

"I will succeed," he growled. "It was my fault that Salvatio had to wake up his heritage that early – the least I can do is stay by him while he's forced to wither centuries!"

Henri and Cathérine on the other hand exchanged another look.

"What about children?" Cathérine asked. "Will he be able to have children?"

Peverell looked at Salvatio.

It was the child who answered.

"No, _maman_," he said. "I can't. Not for a long time yet to come. I'm sorry."

The answer was a soft smile.

"It's alright, _mon fils_," she said. "It's enough for me that you will live. I was merely concerned about your future. Your father and I can arrange your marriage like every parent should – but we can't stop your wife from aging a lot faster than you. I just hoped that if you had children there would be at least some other persons you could have in your life for some time to come."

Salvatio just smiled at his mother.

"It's alright, _maman_," he said. "You don't have to fear for me. I'm just thirteen right now. Whatever will happen, will happen years from now."

Cathérine smiled at that.

"Nevertheless we should look out for a wife from a long-living family," Henri said. "Your mother and I were already looking, since in one or two years it's time for you to engage. Knowing that you'll live a lot longer than us just narrowed down our search pattern a little bit more."

Perenelle nodded.

"It just means that you finally can reject that pompous… man's offer," she said. "He's been after Salvatio since the boy stopped him in cornering you seven years ago. That damn lord might have a high standing in French society, but it's well known that his family members don't even reach a century – far too short for someone like Salvatio."

Nicholas nodded as well.

"It also adds some families we didn't consider until now," he said. "Families like the Notts, the Maximes and the Blacks. They're all very powerful politically, but we ruled them out since they've all very prominent pureblood heritage. Since we didn't know Salvatio's pureblood heritage and some purebloods simply can't with each other, we thought it best not to consider them at all."

Peverell raised an eyebrow.

"You've been looking for a wife for Salvatio?" He asked a little bit unsure.

Salvatio rolled his eyes.

"They're looking since I was ten," he said. "And no, I don't like it – at all."

Peverell looked at Salvatio confused.

The immortal child just rolled his eyes again.

No, Sal hadn't thought about the fact that his parents wanted to marry him off, when he decided to return. He hadn't even thought about it in passing until his mother spoke about it again a few minutes ago.

For a moment Sal contemplated if he could stop his parents' quest for his wife. It wasn't that Sal objected to a woman in his life. He had lived for centuries; of course he had had all kinds of lovers. Some lovers he stayed with their whole lives, some he just met for one night, some where love-interests, some friends-turned-lover, some friends with benefits. There were hundreds of years Sal had gone without lovers; there were other centuries in which he had more than one. There were even some lovers that had been his partners in something akin to marriage – not that they had truly been married by current standards. Marriage like it was now hadn't existed for the most part of Sal's life, after all.

Still, Sal had always chosen his lover himself.

In the end he conceded that it would take time to disabuse his parents of the idea to marry him off. There was no way he would be able to stop them without working on them and his uncle and aunt for some time.

But then, Sal was a two thousand year old Firbolg-born – disabusing his current parents from organizing his marriage should be easy for him, shouldn't it?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_Well, I hope I finally explained Sal's love-life and the lack of children – since I've been asked about it multiple times already._

_And no, this won't be a romance, but this IS the 14__th__ century. Being married off for some political reason is _normal_. I'm simply trying to go with what I know about that time._

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


	46. Chapter 45: 1402: Meeting Someone

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

_Well, I tried to post on Christmas, but I wasn't finished until today, so I guess it's a very late Christmas gift for those who celebrate. xDDD_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 1402 AD**

**Meeting Someone Like Oneself**

sss

_**1899**_

"Are you ready, Eloise?" The Unspeakable in front of the casually clothed woman looked at her in concern. He was one of Eloise Mintumble's best friends – and like her, he worked in the Department of Mysteries, category Time-Travel.

"I am," she said. Of course, she was nervous, but they had quite a sound theory regarding time-travel into the past and also a device that would bring her back the moment she would use it.

"Do you have everything for documentation?" Her best friend asked.

"I do," she said.

"And the device to bring you back?"

She held out an odd looking device, like a miniature time-turner made out of clay.

"And you know how to –"

"I just have to break it, Charlus!" She replied while rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I won't forget."

"Good," her best friend said. "And don't you dare to forget!"

She rolled her eyes again.

"I won't, Charlus," she said amused. "I won't."

Her best friend nodded and took a deep breath.

She snorted at that.

"You look like it is you who's going back in time, not I," she commented amused. "Don't be so nervous, Charlus! Nothing will go wrong!"

Charlus shook his head.

"I still think that it's a risk you shouldn't take," he said. "Our theory is untested! There's so much that can go wrong!"

Eloise laughed.

"Don't be such a worrywart, Charlus!" She replied. "You've been against that experiment from the start and I know that you're just here because you didn't want me to have to work alone!"

Charlus' eyes narrowed at that.

"My Professor in Ancient Runes always told me that even if something can be done using runes, it doesn't mean that it should be done!" He replied darkly. "I think he's right, Eloise!"

She laughed at that.

"Professor Malfoire has always been far too cautious for his own good!" She replied amused. "Truly, you'd think that a man with his knowledge in ancient runes would use this knowledge to bring new discoveries into our world! Instead he's at Hogwarts, teaching!"

Charlus just shook his head.

"Someone has to teach and you can't say that Professor Malfoire can't do it!" He replied.

"Nevertheless, he's far too cautious!" She replied amused. "And now, let's get started! I'm ready to have a look at the world in the fifteen hundreds!"

Charlus just sighed at that.

"Alright," he gave in. "But if something goes wrong, please remember that I told you to be careful!"

"Yes, yes, worrywart," she replied amused and gestured to the other Unspeakables that surrounded them.

"Give me the time turner!"

The time-turner she was given had a lot more spinning devices attached to it, but all in all, it wasn't too different and too much bigger than the normal ones used for going back only hours. The only noticeable different was that a few of the spirals could be fixed to a specific date before someone started to spin the time-turner.

She fixed it to the twentieth of August, 1400.

"Alright, 1400 – here I come!" She said grinning.

Everyone else stepped back.

For a moment she looked at Charlus.

"I bring back some souvenirs!" She said laughing.

Then she sent her time-turner spinning.

The world blurred. For a moment she could see the people around her doing everything backwards, but then even these actions started to blur until everything she saw was colour.

A moment or two later, the motions around her stopped.

The world cleared and she fell to her knees before loosing consciousness.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_**1402**_

When Eloise woke up, a hand was resting on her forehead.

"_Com es elha, mieus amicx?"_ A voice asked concerned. The voice was female and quite soft.

The answer was as incomprehensible as the first words, but unlike the first words they were spoken by a man.

Eloise groaned and then opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground in the shadows of a tree at the side of a clearing in the middle of hundreds of little daisies. A man was sitting next to her, one of his hands on her forehead, the other feeling her pulse at her wrist.

Next to him stood a female in an old-fashioned dress in a light green colour.

The man looked at her in concern.

He had black locks and oddly light green eyes and reminded her of her old ancient runes Professor somehow.

His face showed his concern.

"_Bist thŏu heil__, donzelh?"_ He asked her and she looked at him confused.

"I… I don't understand," she said.

It was then that she finally remembered what had happened and where she was. She had used the time-turner. She was in the year 1400 – if it had gone right, that is. But then, she knew that no one – neither witch nor muggle would wear such old fashioned clothing anymore, so she dared to think that it truly happened and that she went back in time.

And yet, she was a little bit confused that she couldn't understand the man and the woman in front of her. She had never anticipated that the language would have changed over time to the one she was speaking now.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," she repeated and the other woman – or girl, since Eloise guessed that she was about fifteen years old – looked confused at her companion, a boy of about seventeen.

He said something to the girl with a short smile before turning back to her and letting her go.

Then he closed his eyes, his brow furrowing.

"Could you," he started slowly and heavily accented. "Repeat… that?"

Eloise looked at the man in surprise.

"What language are you and the girl speaking?" She finally blurted out confused.

The man frowned again.

"English," he answered, half-amused, half-confused. "Or French, if you prefer."

She frowned.

"I don't understand a word you're saying," she said confused. "And I'm speaking English!"

At that, she saw amusement dancing in the eyes of the man.

"Believe me," he said slowly. "Current English sounds quite different."

"And yet you're here and talking to me in the English I know," she pointed out.

He laughed at that, and when the girl behind him said something with a frown on her face, he turned to her and said something else. Her eyebrows rose at that, then she stared at Eloise in confusion.

"What –?" Eloise started to ask, but the man answered before she could even formulate her question.

"My betrothed isn't quite that happy that I'm laughing with a female that isn't she," he replied amused. "She's quite young, still, and a little bit unsure about my affection."

Eloise frowned at that.

"Your betrothed?" She repeated not amused at all. "Isn't she a little bit young to be betrothed to anyone?"

The boy raised an eyebrow at that.

"This is 1402, Ma'am," he replied a little bit coolly. "In the mundane world she would have been married for a few years now."

Eloise frown deepened.

"Still," she said. "She's far too young –"

"The marriage won't be for another six years," he interrupted her. "Unlike in later times, you don't marry until both marriage partners are at least twenty-one years of age. Tell me, when do they marry in _your_ time, Miss?"

Eloise eyes widened at that.

"W… what do you mean 'in my time'?" She stuttered.

The boy in front of her just raised an eyebrow.

"The clothing you're wearing is far too liberal for this time," he replied amused. "You're telling me, you're speaking English and yet the language you're speaking isn't the same that everyone else uses and you're outraged by a practice that has been like that for hundreds of years now."

Eloise looked at the man in front of her in surprise.

It was oddly logical when he pointed it out like that.

Still, she had to try and dissuade him nevertheless.

"You are speaking my English as well," she pointed out.

He laughed at that amused.

"No," he said. "Not your English. Just a form of English that's near enough to the one you're speaking that you're able to understand me without a lot of trouble. Guessing from that, I'd say you're from sometime in the twentieth century."

Her eyes widened at that.

"I am not," she said. "I'm from 1899."

He shrugged.

"Close enough for me," he replied.

She stared at him.

"How?" She asked. "How do you know that?"

"Like I said: your clothing, your language –"

"No!" She interrupted him. "How were you able to guess the time I'm from?"

The answer was an amused smile.

"That's not something I share with anyone," he replied.

That reminded her…

"I'm Eloise," she said. "Eloise Mintumble."

He raised an eyebrow at that, but replied anyway.

"Salvatio Malfoire," he said and she wondered if he was related to her ancient runes professor.

_Maybe his ancestor?_

She couldn't even ask him since she didn't think that the man in front of her would know the answer. But then, she could ask her professor when she returned to the future…

"Well, Miss Mintumble," he said and his choice of words reminded her again of her professor. "How did you end up here?"

Eloise frowned.

"I don't think that there're so much options that lead to me ending up in the past," she said and he inclined his head.

"Surely," he said. "But there are still some different ways to travel through time."

She looked at him in amusement.

"I don't think there are too many," she said. "You can't travel through time without any kind of preparation."

The answer was an amused look at her.

"There are still accidents," he replied. "There're enough accidents in every other part of magic – I don't think that time travel is an exception."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"It was planned," she huffed. "We set the timer for year 1400."

"It's 1402," Malfoire replied.

She frowned.

"We might have calculated some things wrongly," she said. "But all in all, the entire test succeeded. I travelled in time for years!"

The man in front of her shook his head in amusement, then he turned to his fiancée and said something to her. The girl frowned, but after some more words exchanged, she nodded.

"If you wish, I am willing to harbour you until you have learned the language and found your footing," he said.

Eloise frowned at that.

"I'm not staying for very long," she said. "I planned to stay a week and then return to the future."

At that, Malfoire's eyes darkened.

"It's something different to travel back in time than to travel forward," he said, but then he stopped and shook his head. "Anyway, you will need a place to stay. I am sure my parents won't mind if you stay with us for now. I'm quite sure we will be able to explain you as a distant relative from the country whose father her to experience London's high society or something like that."

She frowned at him, but in the end, she nodded. She would need a place to stay at least for the night. She wasn't quite sure what to think about the added part that made her a 'distant relative', but she guessed that she could live with it for now.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Salvatio didn't know what to think about the woman he found lying on the ground while he had been spending his afternoon with his betrothed.

Yes, he was betrothed.

He hadn't given in without resistance, but in the end, his parents had won.

"But I won't die for centuries!" He had protested. "I don't need to marry right now!"

"But we won't be there anymore in centuries," his mother replied. "We can't forego our duty for our child just because our child will live longer than most other children."

"But she will die long before I'm even going to find a grey hair in my hair!" Sal protested and his mother smothered down his black hair fondly.

"I know, _mon petit fils_," she said smiling sadly. "But it is our duty to ensure your future – and a good marriage is the only way to ensure your future. Your father and I wouldn't be able to look your birth-parents in the eye if we didn't ensure that you were married before we leave this world for the veil."

"Maman!" Sal protested. "There's no way that I'm able to have children! What should I tell my wife? She and maybe everyone will think that it's her fault! She will be an outcast in society – just because of me!"

"I'm quite sure your Oncle Nick will help you like he helped your father and me," she said. "The moment he's done with his new project that is." She rolled her eyes.

Salvatio sighed at that.

His Oncle Nick had been obsessed with making a Philosopher's stone since the incident that woke Sal's "inheritance" early.

He hadn't truly succeeded, yet, but he had found a way to at least slow down his and his wife's aging. Sal was sure that his Oncle would succeed soon, after all, the man had to if he was still alive in Sal's first year at Hogwarts.

"I'm not forcing a young girl into feeling unable to fulfil her role in life, Maman!" He objected his mother's words.

"I'll talk to her before writing out the contract," she promised. "She will go into this marriage knowing that it isn't her fault."

"Maman!" Sadly enough Sal knew that his mother wouldn't give up on her idea, no matter how much he pleaded and argued. Maybe he should have vanished without a trace when he still had the chance to do so…

Now, five years later, Sal was engaged for a few months already. His future wife knew that he wouldn't be able to give her children and had accepted her fate.

Sal didn't love the girl he was to marry in another six years, but he was sure that he could live with her. She on the other hand seemed to have a little crush on him. Sal guessed that it was her right to feel that way, so he didn't even try to rid her of her current feelings. It was after all a lot better than mutual hatred.

Still, it wasn't easy, especially since she clearly was a little bit jealous when they met Eloise Mintumble and he, unlike his betrothed, was able to understand her.

"Mieus amicx," his betrothed said in that moment. He looked down into her face. He had been guiding her and Eloise to the carriage that would bring his betrothed home and Eloise and him to his parents'.

"_Donzelh _Andromeda?" He asked.

She hesitated; then sighed.

"Why do we take her with us, _mieus amicx_?" She asked concerned.

"Because she doesn't have anyone in this world and it is our duty as fellow sorcerers to ensure that she finds her place in a world that is foreign to her," he replied.

Andromeda, his betrothed, frowned.

"She's long since past childhood," she said darkly. "She should have long since learned her place in this world."

Sal smiled at that amused.

"She definitely has – in her own time," he replied, not interested in censoring himself.

At that, Andromeda looked at him in surprise.

"Her time?"

Sal inclined his head.

"I'd prefer if you don't tell that piece of knowledge to anyone," he said.

"If this isn't her time, how did she get here?" She asked confused.

"There are different ways to walk through time," Sal answered without hesitation. "However she got here, she will have to stay, and she will need a place to stay."

For a moment Andromeda looked at him frowning, but then she nodded.

"So you'll bring her to your parents to teach her?" She asked.

He inclined his head.

"It would be best if we don't spread her origin further than we have to," he replied. "She has to learn, but telling everybody her origin won't help her."

Andromeda frowned at that, thinking it over, but in the end she nodded.

"I won't tell anyone," she said and he smiled at her.

"Thank you, _donzelh_."

He helped both women into the carriage and then nodded to their driver and guard that they were ready to return home. They went to Andromeda's home – a manor in the middle of London – first. He guided her into the house, greeted her parents and then said his good-byes for that day.

Then he returned to the carriage and they continued on to his parents' home in London.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Is this what you truly want to do, Peverell?" The voice asked him softly.

Peverell closed his eyes.

"If I don't do it," he said. "Salvatio might break again. I have kept myself away, but since he found out about me, he has come and visited me far too often to not be affected by my death anymore."

"And yet he might still suffer the moment you breathe your last breath," the voice replied.

Peverell inclined his head tiredly.

"He might," he said. "But at least he will keep two more with him throughout the centuries. If I don't do it, he will lose me anyway in a year's time. He will lose me, then his parents, his uncle and his aunt. There's nothing he can do about it except of grieve our deaths. But if I do it, there will be two more he can go to, two more who will understand his pain and who will help him to overcome it. He won't try to kill himself if it means to leave someone who needs him alone to suffer."

"But they won't need him," the voice said softly.

"In his eyes, they will," Peverell replied. "They will be new to their immortal life. He will know that they will be forced to grieve for his parents like he will be forced to grieve for them. They will be forced to grieve for their children, children's children and friends. He has gone through all that before. He wouldn't let them suffer alone."

"So you have decided," the voice said.

"I have," Peverell said. "Will you fault me for my decision, master?"

The answer was the wind ruffling Peverell's hair.

"Never, my child," the voice replied warmly. "I have always known that Nicholas won't be one of mine for quite some time yet."

Again, wind ruffled Peverell's hair.

"Thank you, my child, I will have my balance for the next centuries – a balance who will do what he has to do without breaking apart by guilt and grieve."

"Then I won't regret my decision," Peverell said, closing his eyes again. "I won't regret my death when it means that Sal won't lose everyone he holds dear again."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Eloise wasn't sure what to think about Salvatio Malfoire.

The young man didn't ask her any questions about the future; he didn't even seem interested in her original time.

She watched him guide his betrothed to the door and after vanishing into the house for a few moments, returning to the carriage.

The rest of the drive was silent, until they stopped in front of another manor.

"My parents' home," he told her in his stilted English. "Let's go in there, _donzelh_. I will have to tell them who you are and why you are here."

"So you're telling them about my time-travel?" She asked frowning.

"It's the only way to ensure that they know why they have to be lenient with your actions and words. You're not from this time. This time is different and I don't plan to try to explain your mistakes away until you get a grip of the current culture, _donzelh_," he replied coolly before stepping out of the carriage and holding out a hand for her to take. She frowned at him but took the hand.

The rest of the evening was odd, in Eloise's opinion.

Salvatio Malfoire and his family were speaking French – well, at least Salvatio had told her that it was French, because it sure didn't sound like it – and Eloise was sitting next to them, understanding nearly nothing. It wasn't the family's fault. They had tried to include her by switching to Latin. Sadly enough, Eloise had never applied herself in her Latin studies and because of that only knew enough for her spells. It wasn't ideal at all.

In the end, the family talked with each other and Eloise was sitting by, listening to the odd language, noting down the differences in culture and language for her documentation – as far as she was able to catch those differences, that is – and listened to the family members' talk.

Sometimes Salvatio would turn around and talk to her, asking her a question or two, but all in all, she felt oddly isolated from those people around her.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Salvatio meanwhile had some other trouble to work though. He had told his family that the woman he brought home was from the future – but that brought another round of questions forward.

"How do you know that she's from the future, _mon fils_?" His father asked. Sal sighed.

"It's her language and her bearing that made me guess at first. She confirmed it in the end," he replied truthfully.

"But how can you understand her when she's from the future, _mon fils_?" His mother asked confused. At that, Sal grimaced.

"That's a long explanation," he said sighing. "Let's just say that it has something to do with my inheritance, alright, _maman_? If I'd tell you the full version it would take days until I had it explained fully and even then I'm not sure if I'd told you everything – especially because I don't know the absolute answer to your question myself."

His parents looked at each other, then nodded.

"Alright, _mon fils_," his father said. "Now back to the topic: You can tell that she's from the future – and you're absolutely sure about that, aren't you?"

Sal inclined his head.

"I am, _père_," he said.

"So… will she return to her future soon or is she here for good?" His father asked.

Sal frowned at that.

"For her safety I hope she's here for good," he replied darkly. "Travelling to the future is just possible in one way: to live day for day until you reach the future again."

Sal's mother looked at him in surprise at that.

"You are sure about that?" She asked.

Sal hesitated, then he sighed and shook his head.

"There are other ways," he said. "There are always other ways – but just because you can theoretically do it doesn't mean that you should. There are dire consequences if you go against nature, _maman_."

"So she will stay," his father concluded and then nodded. "I guess you will teach her our language?"

Sal inclined his head.

"Our language, our customs and our way of life," he replied sincerely.

His parents nodded at that.

"What will happen when we return to France next month?" Cathérine asked. "We're not here in London to stay, after all. We only came for your betrothal to Andromeda Black…"

"I guess she will have to choose," Sal replied truthfully. "Either she will come with us or we will find her a place to stay here in London."

"Or we stay until she's ready to move with us," Sal's father Henri said sighing. "Staying a little bit longer here in London won't be too much of a trouble, after all."

The answer was a smile from Cathérine. Sal just snorted.

"You just want to stay to have an eye on me and my betrothed," he said, half-amused, half-exasperated. "That's the same reason why you two are still here, months after my betrothal!"

The answer was an innocent smile from his mother.

"Oh, _cheri_!" She said. "Surely we aren't that curious!"

Sal rolled his eyes.

"Surely not, _maman_," he said amused. "Surely not!"

The rest of the evening they used to talk about and with the new inhabitant of their home. Eloise didn't seem too interested in joining the conversation. Instead of trying to learn their language – and Sal tried to get her start learning – she sat there and listened or wrote something down into a little booklet that she had been carrying with her.

"She's not even trying to start learning our language," Henri said frowning.

Sal sighed.

"I'll talk to her later," he promised. "I'll try to get her to understand."

And with that they started to talk about something else.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Nicholas," Nicholas looked up from his cauldron.

At the door stood Peverell, looking at him with dark eyes.

"I see that you're still working on your concoction," he said frowning, looking at Nicholas' experiments all over the room.

"I will succeed," Nicholas said stubbornly. "I won't give up until I do!"

"And yet you haven't made any progress to gain a Philosopher's stone in years now," Peverell said, looking around the room darkly.

Nicholas returned the look of the other man stubbornly.

"I will succeed," he repeated icily. "I won't leave Salvatio all alone for years and years! He's my nephew and it was my fault that his childhood was cut short! He gave up his childhood in exchange for my life – so I will find a way to live until he's ready to be alone!"

"So you're quite positive that you will succeed," Peverell said sighing.

Nicholas shrugged.

"It doesn't matter what you think, I will succeed," he said coolly. "Whatever you say, I won't let my nephew face all those centuries all alone!"

For a moment, Peverell said nothing.

Then he sighed.

"You're a stubborn man, Nicholas," Peverell said tiredly. He shook his head. "Such a stubborn man."

Nicholas shrugged.

"If I give up I will never succeed," he replied. "It's either continuing or giving up – and I'm not ready to give up."

Peverell sighed again.

"As you wish," he said. "Show me what you've got."

Nicholas frowned but pulled out his nearly done potion.

"This is the one that's most likely to succeed if I can tweak it a little bit more," he said. "I'm already more than half way there. This potion has slowed down my and Perenelle's aging for a few years now, but I'm not yet fully done."

Peverell took the sheet and read through the recipe.

"There's only one thing that's missing in this brew," Peverell said. "Brew it; I will help you with it."

Nicholas frowned at that confused.

"Why do you plan to help me?" He asked him in confusion. "What's in it for you if I gain immortality?"

"Nothing and everything," Peverell replied. "I'm an old man, Nicholas. There's not a lot time left for me, and when I die, Salvatio will mourn me, like he will mourn all of you when you die. I made a mistake once and removed myself from his life. I nearly lost him because of my decision. Now I'm dying – and I will be damned to leave him all alone in the world for the next centuries to come!"

"I thought that he has the Professor Anastasius?" Nicholas said. "He seems to like him quite a lot."

"He has," Peverell said nodding. "But that doesn't change that as long as at least a few of us will stay alive for a little bit longer it will lessen his pain. You were the one who has sworn that you will stand by Salvatio's side until he doesn't need you anymore. I have never sworn that. I am far too old to stay, but I'm willing to ensure that Salvatio won't feel too alone when I'm gone."

Nicholas said nothing for a moment or two, then he sighed and inclined his head.

"So be it," he said. "Help me, Peverell."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Eloise liked living with the Malfoires.

She had been in the past for two days already and she loved every minute of it. Sal had shown her around the market of London, he had explained their life to her and she had dutifully taken notes, quite enamoured with her 'holiday' in the past.

Sal on the other hand wasn't happy with Eloise at all.

"You will have to at least try to learn the language," he told her sighing. "I won't be there for forever to translate."

"You won't have to," she replied. "I will return to the future in another three days."

Sal's frown just deepened at that.

"_Donzelh_ Eloise," he said hesitatingly. "It isn't a good idea to try to return to the future."

At that, the young woman frowned at him.

"Don't worry," she said. "I have a way to return. The other Unspeakables made sure of it."

"_Donzelh_," Sal sighed. "Just because you can do something doesn't mean that you should. It won't do you and anybody else any good if you use that device you have to return to the future. It's too dangerous to do so. The –"

"Don't worry about it, Salvatio," she said and saw him frown even more. He didn't like being solely called by his first name. According to him, it simply wasn't done – but Eloise thought it far too ancient to call him something akin to 'Signeur Salvatio'. It sounded stuffy in her ears. "The other Unspeakables have tested the device quite thoroughly and the theory behind the time-travel is sound."

"I'm not sure what kind of theory you and your comrades used as a base but I don't think that it can be that sound if you look at it with Arithmancy and Runes," Sal replied darkly. "I dearly would like to see their calculations about the time-travel into the future…"

Eloise just rolled her eyes at that, then she clasped his shoulder.

"Don't worry 'bout it, little Sal," she said, using her age as an argument. "You're not even out of Hogwarts right now. You still have a lot to learn to even start to understand our work. I'm not even sure that you will ever be able to learn it, considering that there are centuries between our schooling and our knowledge."

"Some things don't change over time, _Donzelh_ Eloise!" He objected.

"And some things do!" She replied amused. Then she saw some musicians and let go of his arm to go over and listen to them. He called for her, but she didn't even try to listen, far too exited and interested in all those things around her to even think about listening to her guide.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"How far are you?" Peverell asked when he entered Nicholas' lab again. The other man looked up from his cauldron.

"I'll have to add the dragon's blood next," he said. "Then I'll have to stir some and add the mint and the rest of my ingredients. After that it will have to simmer a bit before I can put out the flames."

Nicholas was tired.

He had brewed that particular batch of potion for three days now. He had been combining it with chanting and a lot of runic calculations, with charms and the influence of the moon. It was Alchemy he was doing – a potion based on the most powerful Alchemy Nicholas had ever done in his life. And yet, it hadn't been enough to create a true Philosopher's stone. He was missing something, something very important…

Nevertheless, Peverell had insisted that he brewed it even if he hadn't found the solution to his Philosopher's stone problem just yet.

"Good," Peverell said. "Add the blood and stir. Then let me take over for a bit."

Nicholas' eyebrows furrowed.

"Let you take over?" he repeated confused.

The other man inclined his head.

"I told you that I had the solution to your problem," he said. "I will take over and add what you've been missing until now to succeed."

"What I've been missing," Nicholas repeated before shaking his head confused. "What did I miss?"

"Add the blood and stir," the other man replied and Nicholas finally did what he was told, still confused by Peverell's words.

Peverell stood next to him, watching him stir and when Nicholas ended, he gently took the stirrer out of Nicholas' hands.

He put it aside, pulled out a dagger and then slit open his own wrist.

Nicholas' eyes widened, but before he could stop the Firbolg-born, the grim-born's blood already started to flow into the cauldron.

Peverell picked up the stirrer with his other hand and then started to stir again while chanting.

The blue colour of the potion darkened slowly to a purple.

"Add the mint," he said. "Then proceed as if I weren't there."

Nicholas looked at the other man a little bit unsurely. Then he sighed and nodded.

"Alright," he said. "I'll do what you want."

He took up his work again, trying to forget that there was someone else chanting along, while adding more blood to his cauldron.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Eloise's time was coming to an end.

Tomorrow would be her last day in the past, and somehow she regretted it a bit, but on the other hand she was looking forward to some of the comforts of her own time.

"_Donzelh _Eloise," she looked up, seeing Salvatio standing at the entrance of the library. She had retreated to the library to write down her new knowledge and it seemed like he had finally found her.

Salvatio was getting on her nerves. He was constantly trying to stop her to use her device to return home. Of course, Eloise didn't want to listen and he had begged off for the last hours, but it didn't change the fact that she was slowly getting angry with him for his constant meddling in her affairs.

"What do want from me now, Salvatio?" She asked exasperated.

He sighed as well.

"I guess we will have to talk – eye to eye," he said. "I guess I have to be a lot more open with you if I want you to understand me."

"If it's again about my going home, just leave it be," she said. "You are far too…"

"I am over two thousand years old, _donzelh_," he corrected her softly. "I have known about time travel and its possibilities for nearly as long. There's…"

She snorted, interrupting him with her amusement.

"You're barely seventeen, Salvatio," she corrected him amused. "Your parents told me childhood stories of you."

Salvatio just shrugged.

"My mind is over two thousand years old," he corrected himself sighing. "My parents haven't told you, but I'm a Firbolg-born."

Eloise frowned.

"What?"

His eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"A creature-born," he replied finally. "I'm not human. My parents may have raised me in this rebirth, but it doesn't change the fact that my mind is a lot older than my current appearance."

Eloise rolled her eyes.

"You look human, Salvatio," she said. "I have seen half-breeds. You can't tell me you're exactly like them."

He snorted.

"I'm not," he said. "I'm a fully born creature, not half-creature, half-human. Just because I look human in your eyes, doesn't mean I am, _donzelh_."

Eloise rolled her eyes, not believing him at all, but deciding to humour him.

"So what, just because you're a creature you know it better than me?" She asked.

He shook his head.

"No," he replied. "But unlike you, I have been searching a way back into the future for far longer than wands exist in Britain –"

That got her attention.

"_Back _into the future?!" She repeated in disbelief.

He inclined his head.

"Why else do you think I understood you from the start?" He asked half-amused, half-exasperated. "I'm not exactly from your time, but I am from the future."

She raised an eyebrow at that.

"So, what's _your _original time?" She asked him finally, a little bit pensively, but still not believing him fully.

He hesitated.

"It's… a little bit further into the future than your original time," he finally said. "And I'm actually not too interested in sharing more than necessary with you, _donzelh_."

"So why did you tell me at all when you don't want anyone to know?" She asked him, still sceptically.

"Because you mustn't return to the future like you're planning to!" He replied, concern etched into every line of his face. "I've been searching for centuries for a way back and –"

"And just because you found none, I should stay as well?" She asked coolly, still not believing him but at the same time outraged by his reasoning.

"No, _donzelh_," he said, and suddenly ice creped into his voice and his face darkened while his eyes got an ancient gleam to them. It suddenly wasn't too far of a thought that he actually _was _an ancient being anymore.

"I found a way home," he said, his voice ancient and grave. "It might have taken me nearly a thousand years to do so, but I found a way to calculate time. I found a way to travel back in time and I found a way to travel forward. But some things shouldn't be done. Some things just aren't natural to do -!"

"That's what you say," she said. "If you're truly from the future and found a way back into the future – why are you still here? I don't think it's too comfortable to live in the middle ages!"

He pressed his lips together at that.

"It isn't, _donzelh_," he said. "Compared to the future, living in the past is hard. Life has a different meaning here, living as a wizard or witch is a lot more dangerous. But I can't return to the future except the natural way – one day after another. I don't age, like you won't age when you stay, so you will see the future again, and I can't be killed like you won't be able to be killed as long as you are in the past… and maybe don't try to do it yourself."

The last part he added with a wince as if remembering something.

She frowned at him.

"So you want to tell me that you hate living in the past and that you know a way back into your future – yet you don't use it?" She asked him in disbelief.

His eyes narrowed.

"The calculations are off, _Donzelh _Eloise" he replied. "However you calculate your return to the future, however you put your runes – the backlash of travelling into the future will be enormous. It mustn't be done!"

Eloise snorted at that.

"You sound exactly like my Professor, Salvatio," she said. "'Runes can accomplish everything you can wish for!' He said. 'But that doesn't mean you should use them for it!' He might have been a good professor, but he had no imagination – exactly like you!"

"You're in the past, _Donzelh_ Eloise," Salvatio said while shaking his head sighing. "The past is your current present. The future you come from doesn't exist right now, because it isn't needed for the current present to exist. In other words: your future doesn't exist, but when you still lived into the future, your present back then was built upon the past – this past. Meaning that you could travel back into the past, because from the time-lines perspective you already did. But you can't travel into the future, because from the current time-lines perspective the future doesn't exist yet. I don't even want to know what will happen if you_ do_ try to return to the future, _donzelh_! For all I know, you could erase generations of humans with this act or –"

Eloise rolled her eyes.

"Don't be silly, Salvatio," she said. "If my going back in time was already part of the time-line, then my returning to the future should be it as well."

Salvatio sighed and closed his eyes tiredly.

"No,_ Donzelh_ Eloise," he said. "When you were in the future you could travel into the past, because the past was already set. The past had already happened, because without the past, your future wouldn't have existed. Meaning that sometimes in the past, in 1402, you already appeared and influenced the time-line to what you knew it would be."

"Exactly, and then I returned and –"

"You travelled back in time,_ donzelh_," Salvatio continued, ignoring her. "And your present suddenly wasn't 1899 anymore, but 1402, meaning, you didn't influence time in any way before you appeared, meaning that you travelling back in time hadn't happened yet, and even if you were already in the past, having already travelled back in time, it was still a possibility that you wouldn't do it in the future…"

"But I already did –"

"From your perspective, yes, from the time-line's, no, _donzelh_," Salvatio interrupted her. "This –" He gestured around them. "- Is your present now. Not the future you come from. The future you come from hasn't happened yet – and you can't travel somewhere that hasn't happened yet. So, in other words, the only way to travel in time is backwards. Not forwards, never forwards."

Eloise rolled her eyes.

"Your theory is stupid," she said. "We Unspeakables already found a way to return to the future –"

"No, _donzelh_," the seemingly seventeen-year-old shook his head tiredly. "You found a way to erase you from the past again and keep you in stasis until you reappear in the future. You found a way to circumvent living through the whole history until the day you left, but you didn't find a way to travel onwards, because the future you long to return to doesn't exist yet."

Eloise snorted.

"It's still travelling to –"

"No, _Donzelh Eloise_," Salvatio said. "It isn't. It will put you outside of the time-line, outside of time. I don't know what effect it will have on you, but what I could find out through my calculations; it wasn't something I wanted to happen to me. There's also another fact I learned that you should think about before dismissing me, _donzelh_."

Eloise rolled her eyes.

"What fact, Salvatio?" She asked exasperated.

"The time-line is counting on you, _donzelh_," he said. "I lived for millennia and everything I did, influenced the future I lived in. If I hadn't lived it, my future would have been a different, maybe even a darker one. Basically, even if 1402 is your present now, your 1899 was influenced by you living throughout the centuries. I don't want to know what will happen if you take yourself out of the calculation now that the current time-line has integrated you as a part of itself."

Eloise rolled her eyes again.

"Alright," she said amused. "I'll think about your theories, little Sal."

And with that she stood.

"Good night, child," she said. "Don't forget to keep on the lights to keep the monsters from appearing under your bed."

With that, she left and went to bed, dismissing his warning as the fear of a little boy who was far too young to understand the differences between their levels of knowledge.

Sal's gaze followed her leaving.

He frowned, his eyes dark with worry.

He knew that she hadn't believed him, but he also knew that even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop her. He had no idea what the device she planned to use looked like and he had no idea where to look for it. Warning her, telling her the truth had been his only chance. It seemed like he hadn't succeeded with it at all.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Nicholas stared at that potion in his cauldron. It had thickened and thickened even more over the last hours. Peverell's blood was still steadily flowing into the cauldron, but unlike at the start, it now had a golden ting to it and was filled with golden runes which danced through the cauldron before adding itself to the thick mass at its bottom.

The potion looked already a lot different than anything else Nicholas had managed to produce before.

"Peverell?" He asked, looking up to the deathly pale and shaking man next to him. "Are you -?"

"Don't worry 'bout me," Peverell said, his voice cracked, his lips dry. "Just add the last ingredient and stir."

Nicholas frowned, but nodded anyway before doing as Peverell said.

Then he closed his eyes and spoke his final chant.

When he opened his eyes again, the cauldron was bathed in golden light.

His eyes travelled to Peverell.

The old man smiled.

"It's done," he rasped. "Now promise me to look after Salvazsahar, will you?"

"Salva – what?" Nicholas asked confused.

"Salvatio," Peverell said. "Salvazsahar was his birth name. We always called him Sal, and I thought telling you that would be enough when I gave him to you. Now, promise me to look after him."

Nicholas frowned. He wanted to know more about Salvatio's birth name, but in the end, he just nodded.

"I will," he promised. "I will look after him until he doesn't need me anymore. Until he is ready to let me go and stand on his own"

Peverell nodded satisfied.

"Good," he rasped. "And tell him I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Nicholas asked confused.

Peverell's brown eyes met Nicholas' green.

"That I didn't tell him goodbye," he replied.

Nicholas' eyes widened, he flung himself forward, making a grabbing motion with his hands. But his hands, instead of meeting the fabric of Peverell's clothes, closed into nothingness.

Nicholas could only stare at his empty hand, sticking out of the ghostly chest of Peverell Grim.

"The last ingredient you missed," Peverell said emotionlessly, holding up his ghostly hands which had started to glow in a soft golden light. The glow spread throughout his body.

Peverell smiled.

"The last ingredient," he said, his voice nothing more but a ghostly whisper. "A freely given life."

And with that, Peverell dissolved into a bout of golden glitter.

The cauldron exploded, Nicholas was thrown back, hitting his head on the wall.

The only thing left when he returned to consciousness, would be an oddly shaped, blood-red stone, glittering strangely and mesmerizing in the light of the fire.

Some things had a price to achieve – and Peverell had paid the price of Nicholas' Philosopher's stone gladly if it meant that Sal wouldn't lose everyone of his new family within a few decades.

Sal would never truly find out that Peverell had sacrificed his last years on earth to ensure Nicholas' and Perenelle's ability to live for centuries.

No one would ever find out how to produce another Philosopher's stone – because Nicholas definitely wouldn't tell…

One sacrifice was more than enough.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Eloise woke up again, her whole body ached.

"What's her status?" A stranger's voice asked someone above her.

"It doesn't look good, sir," a woman's voice said. "Whatever experiment she was part of, something went wrong quite horribly with it."

Eloise opened her mouth and groaned.

She wanted to ask what happened, but her lips were dry and she couldn't speak at all. Her whole body hurt terribly.

"What can you tell me about the experiment, sir?" The stranger asked.

This time another voice – a voice she knew – answered.

"We were testing a new way to time travel," Charlus, Eloise's best friend said and he sounded as if he was crying. "She went back in time and then used a device to return to the present."

Eloise would never find out that thanks to her decision more than twenty-five descendants of people she met and then left to themselves in the past were 'un-born'.

"Back in time?" The stranger's voice asked.

"To 1400," Charlus replied sniffing. "It should have been safe! We calculated everything!"

"So she went back about five hundred years," the stranger said.

The following Tuesday of Eloise's reappearance would last for two and a half full days, the following Thursday on the other hand would pass by in a mere four hours.

She had been warned of the consequences and didn't listen, so time-line had to suffer for her arrogance.

"And she's aging rapidly," the woman said. "It seems as if she's aging a far greater speed than she should, and we can't stop it at all…"

And Eloise had to suffer the consequences for her actions as well.

"Please!" Eloise heard Charlus plead. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm sorry," the woman said sighing, and Charlus started to cry in earnest.

This would also be the end of the Unspeakable's tries to go back further than a few hours. Instead, they enacted the time laws that would govern the wizards even nearly a hundred years later when thirteen-year-old Hermione Granger would be approved to have a time-turner to attend all her classes.

Eloise forced open her eyes.

She was in St. Mungo's.

She had gone back in time, lived there for five days and then returned to the present – and now she was aging rapidly, her body slowly dying.

"I warned you," another man's voice said sadly. "But you didn't want to listen."

Eloise's eyes went to the man leaning against the window, his eyes dark and sad, his clothing showing that he was working at St. Mungo's.

"Sal… vatio," she rasped, and he smiled.

"Actually," he said. "You first got to know me as 'Professor Malfoire'."

Her eyes widened.

"But yes, you are right," the man continued. "I am Salvatio, the 'seventeen-year-old child' you met in 1402."

"But…" she managed to rasp out.

"You should have lived through the centuries like I did," he said sadly. "It would have been far better for your health if you had done like I suggested."

"What… are… you…?"

"Doing here?" He finished for her quietly, looking over at Charlus who was raging against the other healers. "I'm a healer at St. Mungo's currently," Salvatio said. "I gave up my teaching position some time ago and started anew. Currently, I'm a healer's apprentice." He rolled his eyes at that as if being a healer's apprentice was funny in some way.

"Sadly there's no way I can tell them that I've been a healer for far longer than they've been alive already, so I had to start anew," he added, clearly amused by his problems instead of annoyed. Then his face turned serious again.

"If you want to, I can stop the pain," he told her, his eyes grave and sympathetic.

"The… aging…?" She forced out and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There are even things I can't do. I'm no god, you know." And the sorrow in his voice was real.

"This was your choice," he said bitterly. "I researched your predicament since you left back to the future. I found no way to stop the consequences the moment you destroyed the time-line's pathway with your decision to return to a place that didn't exist already. I am sorry, so so sorry that I'm unable to do more for you…"

And she could see that he meant every word he said.

"No," she rasped out. "I… am… for… not… listening…"

No one would ever find out that it was actually safe to travel back in time, as long as you came back to the future the natural way – day by day.

The only one, who knew, one Salvazsahar Emrys, also known as Salvatio Malfoire, would never tell anyone of his knowledge. In his eyes, not playing around with time was always the best solution anyway.

Then the healer who had been treating her turned and saw her awake. She saw Salvatio gesturing discretely, taking down a runic ward he had placed around them that had kept the others from hearing them.

"A… Madam Mintumble, you're awake," the healer said, his eyes as grave as Salvatio's.

"I… won't… sur…vive… th'… night," she rasped out.

"I'm afraid you won't," the healer said. "We tried everything, but we can't stop the aging process."

She forced herself to nod and then tried to lift her hand to gesture Charlus near her.

She wasn't able to, but Salvatio seemed to understand her intention, because he did it for her.

Charlus looked at Salvatio in confusion, but stepped near.

"Char… lus…" she rasped and again hot tears adorned her best friend's eyes. "'m… sorry…"

"You don't have to be sorry," Charlus said crying. "We made a mistake. Our calculations were wrong somehow and we…"

She forced herself to shake her head.

"I… made… it," she whispered. "I… was warned… I… didn't listen… sorry…"

And with that she closed her eyes.

No one would ever know more about her experience in the past than what she wrote down. She never ever wrote down 'Salvatio Malfoire', she always called him 'little Sal', so that she met someone who still lived, would forever remain a mystery – not that anyone would have ever connected the dots anyway.

Eloise's chest rose in a last shaky breath, and then there was silence.

She was dead.

And the last flower left on her grave was a simple little daisy – just like the daisies she was found lying in so long ago by the man who had influenced her life without ever being able to rescue her at all.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_1400's French:_

_Com es elha, mieus amicx? - how is she, my beloved?_

_Mieus amicx - my beloved_

_Donzelh - Lady_

_ xXx_

_1400's English:_

_Bist thòu heil? - Are you well?_

_xXx_

**_Just one question: _**_The next chapter, do you want another one in the past, or back to Harry?_

_That's it for today. _

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


End file.
